


In a Strange Land

by nazlan



Category: Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Hordes of the Underdark - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazlan/pseuds/nazlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes, conversations, and asides from a journey through the dark, and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Compulsion

The temple of Lith My'athar had been dedicated to Lolth once, but when the Seer and her ragged lot had come, they had quietly repurposed the building, making it a place for the worship of their Lady Silverhair instead. Valen didn’t personally have any use for their ceremonies, but it was important to the Seer, and that was good enough for him. And he had to admit that the place had a generally more pleasant feel to it now that it was under the purview of Eilistraee.

He had claimed a small antechamber off the hall to the sanctum for himself, not far from the Seer’s quarters, and actually had enough downtime after the mid-day meal to do a little reading for once. Which was why, naturally, a commotion broke out in the sanctum after only about five pages. He snapped his book shut with a sigh. It never ended.

He pushed his way through the crowd of nervously whispering onlookers hovering in the arched doorway, which wasn’t difficult. He had nearly a foot of height on even the tallest drow, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he used that to his advantage on occasion. (All the time.) Over their heads, he could see the Seer, kneeling over a prone figure, and Nathyrra, bending to speak to her. So she'd returned from Undermountain then. He respected the Seer too greatly to ever dismiss one of her visions as foolishness, but sending Nathyrra off on what seemed to Valen a frivolous errand, at such a critical juncture, had struck him as a bit reckless. But it would seem she had not came back alone.

As he drew closer, he noticed another, a small scaly creature (a kobold, his mental Prime Material bestiary reminded him) with both a crossbow and lute strapped over his skinny back, dancing anxiously on the edges of this strange tableau. “Boss gonna be okay?” the kobold asked.

“Leave her to the Seer,” Nathyrra admonished.

Valen peered at the person they were all so concerned over. It was a female, a human woman, pale and dark haired, clad in the sort of leather and chain favored by those who liked to move silently and fight without encumbrance. She was unconscious, her head resting on the Seer’s knees. She obviously wasn’t an escaped slave. Her garb and the blades on her belt belied that, and her skin lacked that mushroom-like tone that all surfacers, regardless of their original skin color, gained in the Underdark. Who was she, then, and what was she doing there?

With a gasp and suddenly flailing jerk of her limbs, her eyes snapped open. “Easy,” the Seer soothed, as one would a restive animal. “It would seem you do not take well to teleportation.”

The woman sat up, scrubbing at her eyes. “What happened? Where am I?”

“We’s in the Underdark, Boss!” the kobold informed her brightly.

“We are?” She looked around, turning to face the Seer. “We are.”

The Seer smiled gently. “You are Ericka Nefzen. I have Seen you.”

“You’ve definitely got the advantage on me, then,” the woman said slowly, never taking her eyes from the Seer’s face. “Who are you?”

“One with much story to tell, and little time for its telling.” The Seer glanced up. “Ah, Valen, you are here. Good. We have much to explain to our guest.”

* * *

 

Ericka’s head throbbed, and she knew it wasn’t just the teleportation that had caused it. It was that damn crazy wizard and his damn crazy geas worming around in her brain, poking away so it felt as if her eyes might be popped out of their sockets if she looked at anything too hard. So she closed them, and tried to focus on the Seer's voice and her story of the Valsharess’s rise to power and the rebellion against her. It was fairly straightforward, and from what she knew of drow politics, that was surprising.

“…Which is how you now find us,” Seer continued. “The goddess gave me a vision of a surfacer who would come to our aid and make our victory possible. In that vision, I Saw you, Ericka. So I must ask: Will you do this? Will you stand with us against the Valsharess?”

“She doesn’t have a choice, Mother Seer,” Nathyrra said, a deep deference in her voice. Ericka made a mental note of that. “Before he returned us to you, Halaster placed her under a geas. She must defeat the Valsharess, or die in the attempt.”

The Seer tilted her head, and Ericka, opening her eyes, met her calm gaze. She had known a handful of others in her life whose eyes had contained that measure of soul-deep peace, but seeing it in the eyes of a drow was almost unnerving. “Is that so, Ericka?”

She sighed and nodded. “Everyone said he was crazy. I didn't know they meant a stone's throw from complete gibbering insanity.”

“We do not need allies who are here under the compulsion of magic, Seer.” The one the Seer had called Valen spoke for the first time, sharp blue eyes narrowed. He was taller than anyone else in the room, and carried himself like he knew how to end a fight quickly. A small, twitching movement behind him caught her eye, and its source took a half second to register. The horns twisting up from his long red hair had been hard to miss, but he had a tail, too? She felt his eyes on her; he knew what she was looking at, and his tightened mouth dared her to mention it.

She put her hands on her hips. Her head ached, the enormity of her situation was dawning on her, brighter and more terrible than any Anauroch sunrise, and she was fairly sure she did not care for this guy’s attitude. “The geas was Halaster being Halaster – insane and unnecessary. I’d be here anyway.”

“Would you?”

“Yes! Yes, I would! The last thing anyone on the surface needs is an army of drow wreaking havoc! But by sending me here now, he’s ruined my chance to warn everyone back in Waterdeep. There were no less than a dozen seasoned adventurers at the Yawning Portal who could have helped, and there probably could have been twice that many in another day or so. But that mad bastard put this all on me, so do me a favor and give me five minutes to be put out by that! I'll get back to you when I'm done!”

“No one likes to have a burden thrust upon their shoulders without warning,” agreed the Seer softly. “When you put it in those terms, I find it most unfortunate that we were denied the aid of others. But I have faith in Lady Silverhair. I have faith that she would not have shown you to me if you were not sufficient. Can we count on you?”

Ericka rubbed her forehead. The headache was not going away. She had descended into Undermountain with a spring in her step, confident and ready for anything. She had solved its puzzles, defeated its beasts, and given the drow a hell of a fight. She had thought she had the situation under control. _One of these days, I’ll learn not to be so cocky._ “You can, Seer. As long as I can help, I will.”

The Seer smiled, a surprising, genuine relief lighting her violet eyes. “Thank you. You should rest, and have something to eat. We'll speak more of plans soon. Nathyrra, will you see to the comfort of our guests?” Nathyrra inclined her head obediently, and with that, the Seer withdrew.

Valen started after her, but only took half step before he turned and said, “I do not share the Seer's belief. Words and visions may be good enough for her, but only actions will win my faith.” He stalked away, tail lashing.

Ericka glanced down at Deekin. “You know, I think he and I are going to get along brilliantly, Deeks.”

“You is being sarcastic again, Boss.”

 _It’s either that or cry_. She hugged herself tightly, gazing around their strange new environs. Empty plinths lined the sanctum, their statues disposed of, and hastily made banners covered Lloth-glorifying friezes. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” She looked at Nathyrra, who returned the gaze with something like apology in her eyes. “You didn’t tell me about Prince Charming there, Nathyrra.”

Nathyrra sighed. “You will have to forgive Valen. He is very proud. But he is also very gifted. If not for him, we would likely all be dead a dozen times over.”

Ericka pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. It seemed to help a little with the pain. “Well, I guess I’m just going to have to come with some actions to win him over. Goodie.” She shot another sidelong look at the drow. “The Seer said something about food? Maybe eating will help this headache.”

Nathyrra nodded. “We can start with dinner and go from there. Once you feel ready, we can meet with the Seer and begin to plan.”

“A plan would be good.” Ericka dropped a hand to absently rub Deekin’s head. She’d thought she had everything under control, back in Undermountain, and she prided herself on never making the same mistake twice. Best to know what they were _really_ up against, even if she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like any of it.

 


	2. Inappropriate

Cavallas’s boat glided over the Dark River, cutting silently through the black water. The only sound aboard came from the bow, where Deekin’s dispirited attempt to tune his lute was a project bound for failure in the damp chill of the river cavern. Ericka wasn’t sorry when he gave up; much as she loved the little guy, he went a bit overboard in his desire to embrace all facets of bardic endeavor. He was a passable lutenist, and his singing wasn’t _awful_ , but his real strength lay, oddly enough, in his remarkable flair for the written word. She would have thought that after the success with the book he’d written about their experience in Undrentide that he might have realized that, but not yet.

He sighed, and setting the lute aside, pulled his notebook and pen from his pack. Maybe he realized it after all. On the page he opened to, Ericka saw a rough map of Lith My'athar – the temple, the market, the house of Maeviir, the docks. In their time together, she had learned to rely on his notes, and the things he saw that might have escaped her attention. He was silly, but he wasn't stupid. “So what do you think of all this, Deeks?” she asked. He scratched behind his left earhole with his pen.

“Is a good twist,” he said. “In Waterdeep, we thinks we's fightin' the drow. Now we's fightin' FOR the drow!”

Ericka chuckled. “Some drow, anyway.”

The boat pitched hard to port, and over the side, she saw a jagged formation of rocks jutting from the rushing water like teeth. Nathyrra had said Cavallas was the only one who could navigate these waters, and in the midst of them now, Ericka could believe it. The current was swift as a flood, with bobbing rocks and an undulating, uncertain shoreline. They barreled by the hazards, their destination a place known as the Isle of the Maker, their objective to learn if the mysterious place held any secrets that could give the Seer's rebels an advantage against the Valsharess. Deekin was right. It was quite a twist.

“And what do you think of our babysitter?” She nodded towards the waist of the ship, where the tiefling Valen stood, arms folded over his chest, impassively watching the savage shoreline pass. It was obvious she was not his favorite person, and he had all but said the only reason he was coming along to the Isle of the Maker was because he didn't trust her to act in the Seer's best interests without supervision. She couldn't say that she blamed him for his reservations, even if he did express them with all the tact of a siege engine. Which was a shame, because he really was pretty good looking, with his dark red hair pulled back from an angular face dominated by those fierce eyes and a surprisingly generous mouth. A bit of harmless flirtation might have been just the thing to take the edge off the unbelievable weirdness of her current situation. But he struck her thus far as singularly humorless, and _that_ she had no time for.

“Deekin thinks he's a poop.”

Ericka choked down a strangled laugh. “Is that your professional opinion, Mister Bard?” The kobold shrugged.

“Is rude to you. Suspicious. So Deekin is suspicious back.”

“That's fair, I guess.” She glanced back towards Valen. It was definitely a shame. She was heading into unknowable danger with this man, and she knew nothing about him. That could be hazardous in the adventuring life, and besides, closed-off people made her itchy. She stood carefully, bracing herself against the rocking of the boat. “Wish me luck, Deeks. I'm going in.”

Deekin gave her as skeptical a look as his guileless face was capable of. “Will be a one-sided talk.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

A dozen conversation starters buzzed through her head as she approached. But when she drew up beside him, she realized there was one question in particular she was burning to ask, and it seemed like such a bad idea that of course it was the first thing out of her mouth.

“Excuse me.” He turned his head toward her, eyebrows lifted. “Is it, um... is it considered terribly inappropriate to ask to touch someone’s horns?”

Whatever he had thought she was going to say, that was most definitely not it. He stared at her blankly, then said, “No more so than an arm or a hand, I suppose. They are just appendages.”

Her hand was extended before she could stop it. “May I?”

He sighed, and inclined his head to make it easier for her to reach. “If you must.”

They were smooth and cool, and shone a lustrous bronze brown in the torchlight. She followed the twist in each with her fingertips, caught off guard by her own fascination, and when she withdrew her hand, she noticed him watching her oddly.

“Such things must truly be unusual here on the Prime to inspire such curiosity.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, abashed. “You’ve probably gotten that a lot, haven’t you?”

“The drow are not wont to ask if something is inappropriate first. I am not sure they have such a concept in their language. But...it has been occasionally difficult to avoid feeling like a freak.”

“I don’t think you’re a freak. And I hope I haven’t given you that impression.” She flashed him a smile. “I think they’re quite handsome.”

“You do?” He looked taken aback, as if that was not a word he had ever heard associated with himself, horns or otherwise. So she doubled down.

“Absolutely! Handsome horns for a handsome guy.” Maybe that was laying it on a bit thick (though it was true, if she was being honest - she supposed she had always had a weakness for blue eyes), but she was still completely unprepared for his reaction.

He went crimson, an honest-to-gods blush that stained his face to the tips of his pointed ears. And though a part of her was sorry for making him uncomfortable, the sight inspired a dark, gleeful satisfaction. It was the feeling of finding a treasury door unlocked, of stumbling over a rich find she hadn't even been looking for. _Doesn’t know how to take a compliment from a woman, does he?_

“I, uh...thank you, my lady,” he managed, and turned quickly, making for the stern of the vessel with a speed that suggested flight.

Ericka watched him flee, calculation in her smile. This might actually be a lot of fun after all.


	3. Cross Purposes

Ericka Nefzen sat cross-legged on the stone floor of the Maker’s keep, deep in conversation with a sentient golem. Valen had seen many strange sights in his life – after all, there was no common definition of ‘normal’ shared by any two planes – but he would have supposed her to be a bit more disconcerted by it all. There she sat, however, calmly recounting their encounter with the undead remains of Alsigard to Ferron as if she did this sort of thing every day. Beside her, the kobold sat with his hands wrapped around his snout, in an effort to prevent more of the interjections that had gotten him hushed in the first place. They were such an odd pair, but they had proven formidable allies in combat. As he had suspected by her gear, Ericka was a finesse fighter, lithe and fluid, preferring to avoid detection until the last, fatal moment, when it was already too late for her target. And Deekin seemed to have an instinctive eye for following her through combat, keeping her covered with surprisingly accuracy with his crossbow. The Seer would be glad to know they truly were as capable as she had hoped, as capable as they would have to be to turn the tide against the Valsharess.

Yes, the Seer would be glad. Why wasn’t he?

“Strange,” Ferron rumbled, “that our creator sought to make life, and yet in the end had such a poor opinion of it.”

“I think he meant well, at least at first,” Ericka said. “I think he wanted you to be infallible. Except that he wasn’t, so how could you be?”

“Nothing perfect may be made through imperfection,” the golem murmured thoughtfully.

A bemused smile crossed Ericka’s face. “Well, you're already working on philosophy, so you’re well on your way to being a civilization.” She stood, wiping at the back of her legs. “We should probably get going, though. We’ll need to head back to Lith My'athar and report in to the Seer.”

“Tell your Seer she may rely upon the aid of my people. I will send a force to her in Lith My'athar. But it may take them somewhat longer to achieve the city than yourselves. Boats are not the best conveyance for us.”

“I’d imagine not,” Ericka smiled. “Thank you again, Ferron.”

They began their ascent back to the island’s surface, Ericka in the lead. Before, she had swept ahead, vanishing from one shadow to another in search of traps and the unwary. Now she strolled on as if she were passing through a market. “That went much better than I was expecting,” she remarked. “Do you think the Seer will be pleased, Valen?”

He grunted something vaguely affirmative. She and Deekin exchanged a look, and the kobold said, “I thinks she will be, Boss. She’s a nice lady.”

“That she is, Deekin. And we definitely want to help the nice ladies instead of the not-so-nice ones.”

Valen snorted quietly to himself, and Ericka stopped, turning to face him. “All right, Valen. Have I done something to offend you? Is this-” She lowered her voice. “Is this about the horns?”

“No.”

“Then what? Stew all you want on your own time, but we have to work together, and I would rather you tell me what’s bothering you than have you glaring a hole in my back.”

He huffed at her in irritation. “Very well, then. Why are you so quick to adopt our cause?”

“I don’t see any other causes worth adopting down here.”

“What of the Valsharess? How do I know you are not simply biding your time to betray us?”

Her jaw dropped. “ _What?_ I’ve already said that I don’t want her and her army on the surface. Waterdeep is the biggest city in Faerun; if she attacks it in force, tens of thousands of people could die. If she can be stopped here before she makes it that far, all the better. And the Seer wants just that, making her the enemy of my enemy.” She crossed her arms. “And maybe I have a soft spot for the underdog.”

He stared at her, poring over her features for the slightest trace of mockery or dishonesty. “The Seer believes in you absolutely. Why?”

She stared back, her golden brown gaze wary. “I don’t know. Who can say why Eilistraee showed her a vision of me? Who can say why the gods do anything? But I’m here, and I’m going to make the best of this, because that’s all I can do.”

“So you will blindly put your faith in a deity as well?”

“This has nothing to do with faith! I didn't ask for this, but I can't change it, either! And I don't even know why we're arguing about it!”

“I fought and bled to serve her. I carved my way though the Planes to be here, and all you had to do was _appear_!”

He had not intended to say that. It was even more honest than he had been with himself. She narrowed her eyes, her lips tightening. “Is that what this is about? Are you _jealous_ of me? Do you think this is some kind of competition – who gets to be Seer's pet?” He looked away, not trusting himself to reply. Her lip curled. “And after Nathyrra talked you up, telling me how much they owed you. Gods, how petty.” She turned on her heel, back stiff as she marched towards the entrance. “Miserable son of a bitch,” she muttered to herself.

The duergar were waiting for them, ranged in the space around the door with the obvious intent of preventing easy departure. Ericka stopped at the sight of them. “What is this, Dahanna?”

The expedition leader shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. “No hard feelings, surfacer, but we’ve been here for years. We all agreed that we deserved a cut of whatever goods you happened across down there. Call it a fee for holding the place for you.”

Ericka’s expression was cool. “So this is a shakedown.” She sprang forward suddenly, crossing the distance between herself and the duergar female faster than any of the deep dwarves could react. Her hand came up, the point of a small, curved dagger pressing against the soft underside of Dahanna’s chin. “No. This place belongs to the golems now, and if you want any piece of it, you need to take it up with them. Now get out of my way. I have places to go.”

Dahanna swallowed hard against the knifepoint. “So it’s true? They really can think?”

“Stick around and find out for yourself.”

The duergar glanced around at her men, moving only her wide eyes, and one by one they lowered their weapons. Ericka’s knife vanished; Valen could not say with any certainty where she had sheathed it. She did not spare the deep dwarves a second look, descending the hill towards the dock and the Boatman.

* * *

 

An irritable, miserable silence settled over Cavallas’s boat. Valen leaned on the starboard railing, glaring at the water. She had called him petty. How was any of this petty? These were matters of life and death, of _identity_.

_All you had to do was appear_.

It was completely unfair. After everything he’d suffered, the compromises he’d made, the violence he had both endured and inflicted – it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Who did she think she was, strolling into someone else’s life and wrenching it away? Maybe he hadn’t been honest enough with himself before, but now he was, and it occurred to him that she really was a thief. She’d stolen the very path he was on, and then had the gall to accuse him of pettiness.

“Um, Valen?”

To the Hells with her! What did she want?!

“I’d like to apologize.”

He looked over his shoulder at the unexpected contrition, and saw Ericka, eyes downcast. He set his jaw and looked back at the river. She took deep breath and added, “I was very cutting, and I should not have been. We have to depend on each other for our lives here, and being angry at one another just makes that more difficult. So I am apologizing. You don't have to accept it, but for the sake of peace, I would like it if you did.”

He sighed to himself. How damnedly reasonable of her. And how asinine of him.

She rocked for a moment on the balls of her feet, unsure of how to read his lack of reply. Just before she turned to walk away, he said, “I should apologize as well. I was…uncharitable in my assessment of your motives.”

“All right.” She hovered in place for a moment, chewing on her lip before she said, “So I guess we're even now.”

“If you don't mind being even with a miserable son of a bitch.” It was so easy; he couldn't stop himself.

She pressed her lips together, her eyes back on the deck. “You heard that?”

He tapped his ear. “My hearing is somewhat better than the average human's.”

“Going to have to watch my mouth around you.” She cleared her throat. “All right, I guess the second round of apologies starts now...”

He shook his head with a small, humorless chuckle. “No need, my lady. That is not a minority opinion.”

“You get that a lot, do you?”

“Miserable, moody, touchy... Surly is a frequent descriptor, as well.”

“And maybe a little dramatic?"

“I'm told I'm quite good at that, yes.”

She smiled faintly and leaned against the rail beside him. After a moment of silence, the smile slipped, and she glanced at him. “The Seer really does mean a lot to you, doesn't she?”

He turned to face her. “I was a monster, soaked in rage and hatred, given over to the dark within before I first saw her. And one look into her eyes reminded me of my soul. From that moment, I had no other purpose but to be at her side. She saved me. In every way a man may be saved.”

“Oh.” Ericka shifted her weight, her expression uncomfortable. “I wish somebody'd said something sooner. If I'd known, I wouldn't have said what I did. Earlier, or...the time before.” She gestured lamely towards his head. He touched his horns, peering at her in confusion.

“I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“Well, it’s not my place to make comments like that if you and the Seer are…”

“Are?”

“You know... a couple.”

He tilted his head at her. “My lady...the Seer is my mentor. I am in her service and her debt, but not her bed.”

“So you're not...?”

“No.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Oh,” she said again. Her cheeks were turning pink. After the blushes she'd reduced him to, the sight stirred a tiny thrill of triumph. Turnabout really was fair play. “I am...going to go,” she said, “before I make any more stupid assumptions. Boot polish does not taste that good.” She coughed, and turned for the cabin door, then said quickly, “But if you're not spoken for, then what I said before? About you being handsome? That still stands.”

His face heated. She won again.

 


	4. On the Balance

“Mother Seer is resting,” Nathyrra said. “Shall I come find you when she wakes?” Valen sighed.

“It wasn’t anything pressing. I only…wished to speak with her privately.”

A gleam of amused understanding lit the drow’s eyes. “You mean, without Ericka present.”

He didn’t feel like responding to that, so he turned for his own quarters. He wasn’t expecting Nathyrra to follow, which was why it surprised him that she did. They were not close, but they had developed a solid working relationship, being the Seer’s de facto general and foremost disciple, respectively. And though some others in the Seer’s camp distrusted her, he saw no reason to; yes, she had once served the Valsharess as a Red Sister, but if faith in the Seer could beget the changes he had seen in himself, then surely faith in her goddess could do the same in another. He saw no reason to doubt the sincerity of her conversion, even if it meant little to him. Perhaps that was the reason why they could respect and appreciate one another: he was the practical and she the mystic, the head and the heart, two necessary opposites. What one could not offer the Seer, the other could.

And here had come the surfacer, throwing off the balance.

Nathyrra positioned herself in front of his door, one silver eyebrow lifted, the obnoxious mirth still shining in her eyes. “So what do you think of her?”

He looked pointedly at the doorknob she was half blocking. “What I think is irrelevant. The Seer’s opinion is the one that matters.”

“You don’t like her, then.”

“It has nothing to do with personality. But I am not sure I can express my reasons in a way that will not give offense.”

A line of confusion appeared on her brow. “Give offense? How so?”

He let out a long breath. “Because you are a believer, Nathyrra, and I do not wish to trample upon that.”

“Ah.” She did not appear even slightly offended – worse, she looked amused again. “Ever the skeptic, Valen. I don’t understand how you can be so devoted to the Seer and her cause and yet hold the goddess at arm’s length. It seems to me you cannot have one without the other.”

“We have had this conversation before,” Valen said tiredly. “Now will you kindly allow me to enter my own room?”

“Not until you answer my question.” She fixed him with a frank gaze. “I may not understand why you…compartmentalize, but in this case, I’m glad for your skepticism. You aren’t prone to be over-awed by her. And objectivity can be just as necessary as faith.”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me. You’re the one who met her in Undermountain. You’ve had every bit as much opportunity as I to form an opinion of her, so what do you need mine for?”

“Haven’t we endured enough together to speak as peers, Valen? I freely admit that I like her very much, but if you do not, I think it only right to take into consideration why.”

He pursed his lips sourly. “It has nothing to do with ‘liking’ her. She is either an asset or a liability.”

“Then what is your assessment?”

He shrugged, beginning to feel put upon. “She is very skilled. She keeps her head about her in a fight. I believe we can rely on her for now.”

“Just for now?”

“Who knows what the future holds?”

“Other than the Seer?”

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. She still wasn’t letting him in his room. “It’s as if you want to be suspicious, but you can’t.”

“Any time a new element comes into play, it bears observation. You can’t deny that her presence here has altered the state of affairs.”

“Yes, it has. We can finally move forward instead of cowering here, waiting to be destroyed by the Valsharess.”

“Why did we need her to do that at all?” he countered. “What were we waiting for? Isn’t it just as dangerous to pin all our hopes on one person?”

“Because if we had required more, more is what we would have been sent,” Nathyrra replied. Then she seemed to hear what she had said, and nodded thoughtfully. “And _that_ leap of faith is where you cannot join me. Your instincts tell you to be cautious. That is understandable.”

That was one thing he liked about Nathyrra – even in matters of her faith, she was still reasonable. Some of her co-religionists could be…less so. “But to be honest,” he admitted uneasily, “I have watched her closely, and I have seen little in her behavior to warrant suspicion.”

She smirked suddenly. “Perhaps it wasn’t just her behavior you were watching?” He stared at her in silent bewilderment, and she shrugged. “She is rather attractive, if your taste is for females. Even for a rivvil.”

He set his jaw, an oft-rehearsed rant on drow and their obsession with sexuality ready to be finally unleashed when the alarm cry went up from the front of the temple. They shared a half second look of horror, then, as one, sprinted for the exit.

There was confusion in the courtyard – wide eyes, and the reverberating sensation of hundreds of tightly strung nerves being suddenly struck at once. “What’s going on, Imloth?” Valen demanded of the rattled commander.

“I don’t know exactly,” Imloth said, swallowing hard. “But something’s coming out of the river, Valen.”

“The river? How is that possible?” Nathyrra asked. Imloth shrugged his confusion, and Valen cast his eyes about, a battle plan coming into quick shape in his mind.

“Imloth, form the archers up on the-” Beyond the sea of pale drow heads, he could see a figure darting towards the river, and he recognized her in an instant. “Ericka!” he shouted. “What are you doing?”

“It’s all right, Valen!” she called back. “I know who it is!”

“You do?”

He charged after her, Nathyrra close behind. As they approached the bank, they saw Ericka standing very close to the edge of the swiftly moving water, which roiled unnaturally a few feet from the shore. Rounded shapes bobbed in the current, growing larger by the second. Then glowing eyes appeared at the surface, and Valen understood.

The golems trudged up onto the bank, water sheeting from their metallic bodies. There were a dozen of them, ranging in size from slightly taller than Valen to the one who brought up the rear, who had to be nearly ten feet. “By the Maiden,” Nathyrra whispered in awe. Ericka grinned at her, then turned her smile to the golems, spreading her arms.

“Welcome to Lith My'athar, fellows!” she beamed.

The golem in the lead dipped his head and rumbled in a brassy, echoing voice, “We have come at the behest of Ferron. Please, direct us to your Seer. We bear a token for her, to demonstrate our good faith.”

“I think she’ll like that,” she said, still smiling. “Follow me.” The crowd of drow parted silently, collective eyes huge, and Nathyrra raised an eyebrow at Valen.

“I would say she has just scored a substantial mark in her favor.”

He watched Ericka lead the golems towards the temple, her pleasure evident in the bounce of her step. “She is dauntless, it seems. She will need to be, here.”

“It sounds as though the scales are tipping.”

Valen rolled his eyes slightly, choosing to ignore her implication, and followed the golem procession back to the temple. One did not need to hold a vision as sacred to recognize its truth, and it would seem that, for now, Ericka might be all the Seer’s goddess had said she would be. But gods could be mad. They could lie, they could deceive, and they could be deceived. In a lifetime on the planes, he had seen too much to view divinity as a guarantee of anything. Nevertheless, he would see the Seer’s cause to its end, even if that was only his own end. He owed her that much. He glanced towards the temple steps at Ericka happily introducing Ferron’s golems to the Seer. Would she lay down her life if need be? That was a question only time could answer.

It surprised him, however, that his first instinct said yes. Yes, she would.

 


	5. Childish Things

“ _They say that a lass born in Sigil_

_ Will place her heart in a box _

_ The key, don’t you see _

_ It comes with a fee-” _

Valen was singing to himself, and didn’t even realize it until he nearly walked into Ericka, who had stopped short, staring at him with a combination of surprise and amusement. “I thought we already had a bard,” she said.

“Yeah!” Deekin’s small face pulled into a scaly pout.

“I was simply singing,” Valen said coolly. The sparkle of unvoiced laughter in Ericka’s eyes chafed his pride, even as another part of his brain declared it a pleasure to see a woman looking at him like that. He hadn’t gotten on well with most of the drow females he had encountered – they were unused to dealing with males who expected to be treated as equals, and he was unused to _anyone_ being so forward and aggressive, under any circumstances, and that was after spending a substantial portion of his life as part of a demon’s army. Even the Eilistraeeans found it difficult to break old cultural habits, and Nathyrra’s grinning explanation of exactly why so many females had expressed an interest in his tail had sent him into a spiral of mortification it had taken days to recover from.

But Ericka was different. Even though her teasing could reduce him to red-faced silence in a matter of moments, he found that he enjoyed the attention, which made him increasingly frustrated with the part of him still grousing at the changes her presence had wrought to the status quo. He didn’t like what her being there meant, but he liked that she was there. Very irritating.

She was still smiling at him, and he raised an eyebrow. “Yes, my lady?”

She shrugged with false innocence. “It just sounded a bit risqué, that’s all. I didn’t figure you for the type to know a lot of dirty songs.”

“I was, and am, a soldier,” he pointed out, as if that explained everything.

“That’s a terrible excuse,” she snorted. “I’ve never been a soldier, and I know all kinds of racy songs.”

“Do you?” he asked, unwittingly intrigued.

She nodded, smirking, then whispered theatrically, “But Deekin doesn’t like it when I sing them. He thinks it’s beneath me.”

“Boss is a big hero and should have more dignity,” the kobold said primly. Ericka rolled her eyes affectionately at him.

They walked on in silence for a few moments more, and Valen realized he did not want the conversation to die. He looked at Ericka, who had fallen in step beside him. “Might I ask where you acquired the kobold, my lady?”

She chuckled. “‘Acquire’ really isn’t the right word. He is his own person, after all. But how I met him?  _ That _ involves my old master, his old master, a floating Netherese city, and this thing.” She tapped the odd stone relic that hung from her belt, and his interest redoubled. He had wanted to ask her about it; it had the look of a trophy, and something about it struck him as planar. 

“So it is a long story.”

“You could say that.”

Valen glanced about them. “We have a way yet to walk, and the scenery in this section of tunnel isn't exactly inspiring.”

“It is pretty boring,” she agreed. “I’ve heard there are some beautiful places in the Underdark, but I certainly haven’t seen them yet.”

“Before we fell back to Lith My'athar, we camped in a place called the Threaded Plain. It is a vast open expanse that takes its name from the crystalline stalagmites that dot it. It was a safe place for us, because our fires were reflected in the crystals, which reflected onto others, obscuring our location. It was both eerie and magnificent, seeing those thin fingers of light stretching into the darkness.”

The look of fascination on her face reminded him of when she had asked to touch his horns. What had surprised him then, as it did now, was the unfeigned honesty of the expression. “Are you sure you’re not a bard? You have quite a way with words.”

He shrugged, trying not to look flattered. “I would not dream of depriving Deekin of his custom. And you still have not answered my question.”

“I didn’t, did I? I guess it just doesn’t seem like it would be all that interesting to you. I mean, you are the one singing songs about the ladies in Sigil.”

“I was born there. I am allowed.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened slightly. “I knew you weren’t from the Prime Material, but…” She shook her head. “No, my story’s definitely not interesting enough for you.”

He blinked at her. Most Primes didn’t even know what Sigil was. “You have a very high opinion of the city. Have you been there?”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head sheepishly. “But Master Drogan was a wizard. Did a fair bit of planes-hopping in his time.” She smiled to herself. “He had some wild stories, and I always loved to hear them.”

“You are no mage. Why were you apprenticed to one?”

“That's part of the story.” She glanced at him, a teasing half-smile playing at her mouth. “I’ll trade you. Tell me about Sigil, and I’ll tell you how I ended up with Master Drogan.”

“Do you often bargain to get what you want?”

“When I think it will work.” 

Mistrusting her would be so much easier if she weren’t so likeable, he thought. “Very well. It is a remarkable place. There is certainly nothing like it on the Prime Material. The streets are a warren of twists and turns, even the ones that appear to be straight. And there is always an endless parade of beings from the farthest corners of the planes - celestial and demonic, creatures from planes of clockwork and places of pure energy.”

“Master Drogan said that sometimes the Lady of Pain will go out into the city, and when she passes, everyone will cover their face out of respect. Is that true?”

At the very mention of the name, he felt his hand begin to lift in a gesture as old as memory. She noticed the movement and smiled; he returned the expression somewhat sheepishly. “Yes. That is true.” He cleared his throat. “I grew up in the very center of the city, the area known as the Hive. I came to know it very well very young. That is a natural consequence of being responsible for one’s own upbringing.”

“No parents?” It was a simple question, and refreshingly lacking in any sort of sympathy or judgment.

“I never knew my father. And my mother died when I was still a child. I kept body and soul together by doing what I had to.”

“Wow,” she said softly. “That’s...” _Terrible_ , he expected. “...a really familiar story.” He blinked at her again. “Change the place to Westgate, and you’ve pretty much got my childhood,” she said.

“Indeed?”

“Yeah.” She tilted another smile up at him. “I’m having trouble imagining you as a skinny little sneak thief, though.”

He was suddenly self-conscious. “I was not always this tall.”

“I would hope not. Your poor mother.” Quite without meaning to, he laughed, and her smile widened, crinkling her nose. “Why Valen,” she said, “you're smiling.”

“Even the fully demonic are capable of smiling. What of it?”

She shrugged innocently. “I thought you were surly, that's all. But don't stop on my account. It looks good on you.”

He felt his face go hot, but mercifully, she returned to their previous conversation. “So yeah. Westgate. No family but my mother, and she died when I was ten. I did what I had to, as street kids do. Unfortunately for me, Westgate’s streets belong to the Night Masks, and their business model doesn't really allow for independent operators. Even the ones who haven't hit puberty yet. With them, my options were apprentice or die and I didn’t especially want to do either. I guess I’ve never been bloody-minded enough for guild work. And after a few years of trying to fly under the canopy and avoid their notice, I made a mistake. But it was a mistake that saved my life.

“I was hanging around the east gate one afternoon, looking for marks. I guess I was about fifteen or so at the time. I spotted a dwarf in wizard’s robes, riding with a few humans. They looked like adventurers, so I knew better than to try going straight for their pockets. Instead, I followed them to the hoity-toity inn they were staying at, and when they’d gone down to the common room for dinner, I broke into their suite. They had a traveling chest - brass bound, beautiful work - and that was my first target. I didn’t see anything that I recognized as unusual about it, so I started picking the lock...and froze, stiff as a board. I didn’t know about ward traps, you see.

“That was when Master Drogan came in. He saw me standing there, paralyzed, bent over the chest with my picks in the lock, and he laughed at me. He stood there for at least a solid minute and just laughed. I was _mortified_. Then he dispelled the ward and asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I told him I didn’t know. Every day I was still alive was a win, as far as I was concerned. Plans for the future were a luxury. That seemed to make him sad and he said, ‘What if I could give you a future?’ I asked him how he could do that, and the next thing I knew, I was traveling with him back to Hilltop, north of Neverwinter. And that was my new life. I’ve never looked back.”

“But what could he teach you, if you did not learn magic?” Valen asked.

“Control,” she said simply. “Until he took me in, I never realized how angry I was. At my mother for dying, at the world for not caring, at myself for not being… _better_. I think that deep down, I knew that it was only a matter of time until I slipped up and the Night Masks did to me what they did to every kid they couldn’t use. And I think a part of me wanted it, because I didn’t think I had anything to live for. Master Drogan told me that I deserved better. I owe him everything for that. He made me who I am.”

He regarded her for a moment, a strange sense of fellow feeling washing over him. So she had had a Seer too. That explained a great deal. He nodded and said, “But that does not explain the kobold.”

She laughed again. “No, it doesn’t. Well, the short version is that I met Deekin while trying to recover some stolen property for Master Drogan. The long version…is in the book.”

“The book?”

“Yeah, Deekin wrote a book about the whole thing.” She reached back to pat at her pack. “I’ll have to lend it to you sometime.”

Maybe it was her recounting of her own adolescent thievery that inspired him, or maybe he was just feeling puckish, but when they stopped for a break an hour or so later, he filched the worn, gray-bound book from the outer pocket of her pack. That evening, while he was on watch, he thumbed through it, suppressing the urge to make notations in the margins. 

When he woke the next morning, he followed the same routine he did every time he rose – rolled up his bedroll, put on his boots, strapped on his armor, and reached to hang his flail from the hook on his belt…only this time, he could not. The hook was gone. “What the...”

“Catch.” 

He raised his hands instinctively at the word, catching the object that Ericka threw to him without even seeing it. It was the flail hook, which meant that she had taken it off his belt while he slept. The belt he had been wearing. Which meant that she had... He flushed to the roots of his hair.

She clucked her tongue in mock disapproval. “You stole my book. And from one sneak thief to another, I have to say… Poor form. But it was probably just to keep your hand in, wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” he said, hoping that if he ignored the redness of his face, she would too. “To be honest, I am not sure I could entirely say.” 

“Well, professional pride demanded that I teach you a lesson. I’m the larcenist around here, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes at her as he replaced the hook, then bowed in as courtly and elaborate a manner as he could manage. “I prostate myself at my lady’s feet for having trespassed in her domain. Can she see fit to forgive me for my amateurish bumbling?”

She stuck out her tongue, then imperiously drew herself up to her full height, which still didn’t even bring her even with his chin. “This time she can.” Her stern expression turned impish. “Did you at least enjoy the book?”

“Did all of that actually happen?”

“Mostly. Though Deekin can’t help but embellish a _little_. After all, doesn’t he say in there that I’m luminously beautiful with ravens-wing hair and flashing eyes?”

“The language is somewhat flowery, but I think that a conceit of the style. He was obviously attempting a prose epic, and with that in mind, I would not call the description wholly inaccurate.”

She bit her lower lip, vainly trying to keep a grin at bay. “Valen…that was almost a compliment.”

“You do not have a monopoly on them,” he said loftily. “But physical descriptions aside, what of the story itself?” 

She shrugged. “It’s more or less what happened. Stolen relics, white dragon, crossing the desert, turning to stone, floating city.”

“He did not make much mention of your trophy.” He nodded towards the relic on her belt.

She covered the stone with her hand, looking suddenly and strangely subdued. “He wasn’t there for that part. And it’s…a story of its own.” She shook herself, adding brightly, “But he’s a pretty good writer, isn’t he?”

“He abuses commas,” Valen sniffed. Her lips quirked. 

“Literary critic AND grammarian. You are a man of hidden depths, Master Shadowbreath. Obviously, I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.”

_ I’d like that _ , he thought, and then thanked whatever good spirit watching him that he hadn’t said it aloud.

 


	6. Debtor's Lament

_Sweet Tymora, that was a rookie move._

That had been Ericka's last thought before she had lost consciousness, and it was her first when awareness returned. But at least she was alive to reproach herself, she thought, swallowing the chalky taste of the healing potion that had likely saved her life. She'd died once. She was in no hurry to do it again.

But Valen had been hard-pressed, and even as skilled as he was, the vampires had still threatened to overwhelm him. So she had thrown herself between him and the bloodsuckers advancing on his back, knowing full well she was leaving her own back wide open. _Undead monks. As if just being vampires wasn't bad enough._ Her disapproval translated to a muffled groan.

"Boss?"

Relief washed over her at the sound of Deekin's voice. The little guy always said sticking with her was worth it for the stories, but that only marginally satisfied her guilty conscience at getting him into dangerous situations in the first place. He was such an eternal innocent that it seemed wrong to expose him to the ugly side of adventuring. There was wonder and excitement and pure, fiery _life_ to be had in their chosen profession, but there was also pain and worry and fear, and no matter how resilient his spirits, she always hated herself a little for showing them to him. She felt his small, taloned hand on her shoulder. "Boss?"

She swallowed again, and forced her eyes open. "I'm up, Deeks. I'm all right." But the first face she saw was not the kobold's.

Valen hovered over her, watching her with such intensity that it looked as if he had been trying to will her back to consciousness. It really wasn't fair, she thought fuzzily, meeting his gaze – he had such spectacular eyes. They were the blue of a clear winter sky, a lonely, distant color. She shook her head. Strong healing potions always made her a bit loopy. She glanced around, taking quick stock of their surroundings. They were in a small storeroom, and through the half-opened door, she could see the coffin room where the vampires had ambushed them. "Done and sorted, I guess?" she asked, trying to sit up.

"That lot, at least," Valen replied. He placed a hand on the small of her back to help her forward, and for some reason, the contact felt very nice.

"When you stakes a vampire, it does this!" Deekin threw himself onto the ground, writhing and waving his claws. As suddenly as the performance began, it ended, and he hopped back to his feet. "They squeals, too, but we gots to be quiet." His eyes cut towards Valen, and Ericka had to suppress a chuckle; she had the feeling he'd already been chastised while she was unconscious.

"I think I'll get to see it for myself soon enough," she said, standing. "We're not done with them yet."

"Indeed." Valen seemed to notice he had kept his hand on her back through her entire ascent to two feet, and quickly stepped away from her. Then she had to keep herself from laughing at _him_ , because sometimes he was so damn proper it was hysterical. But the troubled look on his face silenced the impulse for mirth.

"Is something wrong, Valen?"

"Why did you do that, my lady?"

"Do what?"

"You put your life at risk for mine."

"That's kind of how it works, isn't it?" She bent to pick up her swords, which had been propped against the crate beside her. Her old friends, Maiden and Crone. Someone had helpfully wiped them both down for her, for which she was grateful. The only time a blade needed to be dirty was when it was in use.

"Yes," Valen shrugged uncomfortably, "but all the same…I owe you my life."

She glanced through the storeroom door, plotting the best route back into the corridor. "You don't owe me anything, Valen. Because if we owed each other every time we did something that kept the other from being killed, we'd never be even. Besides, if you and Deekin hadn't dragged me in here and force-fed me that potion-"

"Three potions," Deekin supplied helpfully.

"-those three potions, I'd be the dead one. So who owes who?"

He looked at her in silence for a long moment, blue eyes sharp as a knife. Then he bent his head in a nod. "You are right, my lady. I am still relearning how to fight alongside allies instead of…as part of a mob."

She couldn't explain the impulse, but she was glad she listened to it anyway. She reached up and gave his cheek a gentle pat. "I understand. And you can owe me if you want, but don't be too upset if I never ask for repayment."

He looked surprised at the touch, but the corner of his mouth moved in a small smile. "Very well."

They moved back into the dark hallway, Ericka taking the point. With enough caution and care, even a vampire's predatory eyes could be fooled into thinking she wasn't there, and that was her first and best weapon. The air was dank and still; dust had settled along the edges of the hall like a thick gray frost, and she had to be wary as she slipped through the shadows that she did not disturb it. There was sound ahead, an unnatural grinding click that sent a shudder through her. More bone golems, creatures pieced together from the cast-off remains of the dead. It really was a perfect arrangement – the vampires got the blood, and then they sanctified the leftovers to their supposed 'god'. Ericka felt her gorge rise. She hated the undead. Dead things should stay that way.

She peered through the open door, keeping low to avoid notice. Two ranks of golems stood beyond, their backs turned, facing the pair of vampire priests in the center of the room. One of them held a vial in its long-nailed hand, the other a shallow metal bowl. Some sort of ritual, she thought – perhaps not all of the golems had been activated yet. _Well_ , she thought, smiling darkly as she slowly eased Maiden from the scabbard on her left hip, _we shouldn't let them finish that_. She stole back towards Valen and Deekin, and lay out both the situation and her plan. "I need you to be my distraction," she murmured to the tiefling. "Get their attention for me."

"Easily done."

"Big, good-looking guy like you? Of course it is." She shot him a sunny smile to take the edge off her nerves, and to her slight disappointment, he didn't blush. He only shook his head with eye-rolling reproof, but he did smile back. "All right, let's move."

There was an art to avoiding detection, and a multitude of techniques to go about it. In this particular case, her greatest worry was the vampires, so her safest method was to be as still and neutral as possible. She dipped her fingers into the dust in the corners near the door, smearing it over her face and throat. It wouldn't cover her scent, but it would make it less noticeable, and that was what mattered. She nodded once to Valen, and slipped through the door, keeping hard to the edges of the room. She would only have a twenty count to get in position before he and Deekin made their move.

_Seven. Eight. Nine._

She followed the wall, moving low and slow, her objective the far side and the vampires' backs. The golems moved, swaying slightly as if in boredom, the bare bones that formed them rubbing together with a noise that made Ericka want to gouge at her ears. There was a reason the living had cartilage. But not all of the constructs were mobile – they must be the ones the vampires were planning to activate.

_Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen._

The vampire holding the vial raised it, his gray face twisted in religious fervor, his yellowed eyes glittering with unholy excitement.

_Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty._

Valen lunged into view with a roar, flail raised, and the active golems turned for him with a disturbing synchronization. But if their coordination gave him pause, he made no sign; his face was alight with a fierce joy at entering the fight, and Ericka had seen enough warriors at work in her time to know she was watching an artist. He wasted no time or energy on anything other than the strike – hard, fast, and only once. Twice if he felt the target wasn't paying attention.

The vampires hissed with rage at the interruption, and then with pain, for over the sound of shattering bone, it was hard to hear the creak and whirr of Deekin's crossbow, but it was hard for them to miss the bolts striking their torsos. Ericka grinned as she advanced on their undefended backs. He really was an incredible little marksman.

The nearer vampire was the one who had been holding the bowl, which it dropped with a clatter as she slit its throat. Its body convulsed, the gaseous form rising from it like steam. Ericka kicked the body out of the way, reversing her grip on Maiden's hilt as the vial-holder swiped at her with its clawed hands. "Blasphemer!" it growled.

She brought her swords together, blocking the strike. "I've been called worse." It swung again, and she ducked low, bringing Crone up at an angle, the blade sinking between its ribs. She jerked the sword free, following it with a second stab from her lead hand. The vampire sank to its knees, its body growing hazy. The gaseous form trailed towards a closed door at the back of the room, but she would deal with it and its friend after they were sure the golems were put down.

There was something cold at her back, a sensation that something was coming up on her, a sense that engaged even before she could hear the bone golem's approach. She turned on the ball of her foot, ready to tumble out of its path. From the corner of her eye, she could see it raising one of its scythe-like arms, and she would have to pick a direction very quickly -

There was a clank of chain and a crunch of bone, and the golem crumpled over a suddenly useless left leg. Valen raised his flail again, and the second blow sheared off the top of the golem's skull. The lights of its eyes faded and it fell into a loose, jointless heap. She exhaled hard, letting the adrenaline out with her breath. "See?" she panted, grinning crookedly. "If we were keeping count, I'd owe you again."

He raised an eyebrow, an ironic smile in his eyes. "Fortunately, you do not."


	7. Tales to Tell

The world was full of stories. Everyone had one, and that was what Deekin loved about people in general. No two were exactly the same, no matter how many themes they might have in common. Which made every story new and different and exciting, because sometimes the ending was predictable, but so very often it was not. But it made him sad sometimes though, because with so many stories to hear, there was no way one small kobold could hear them all, even if he lived as long as an elf. He would do his best anyway. It was better to try and fail than not try at all. That was what Ericka said, and she was very smart about these things.

They sat outside the now-empty vampires’ temple, looking down the rocky hill to where the people of Drearing’s Deep were gathered, milling together in a sort of dazed joy. “I don’t think it’s sunk in yet,” Ericka said to Valen, who was scouring the backplate of his armor with mild irritation.

“Look at this,” he muttered to himself. “Rust! This is disgraceful.” He shook his head, self-recrimination in his features, then glanced at Ericka, seeming to have only then noticed her comment. “You’re likely right, my lady. They have lived in fear so long it will take some time to break the habit.”

“I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for them,” she said softly, digging her sharpening kit out of her pack and drawing her swords. “To escape from the drow or the illithid, to think they were free...and then find themselves just as trapped here.”

“I was glad to learn when I came here that the Seer and her followers repudiate slavery. It is a foul thing.”

She looked at him sidelong, honing steel in one hand and her lead sword in the other. “Why do I get the feeling you speak from experience?”

Ericka and Valen told stories. It seemed like they were always talking about something, and Deekin would need a new notebook soon, just for the stories they told each other. He was familiar with most of Ericka’s – he had heard them before at one time or another. But there was something different about the way she told them to Valen, something Deekin couldn’t quite put his claw on. He had his suspicions, though.

“…they sought those of demonic heritage, like myself,” Valen was saying. “Those whose bloodlust they could awaken. I suppose it was not truly Grimash’t I was a slave to in those years, but my own blood, for I happily slaughtered in his service.” He chuckled dryly. “Though he certainly seemed to think I was his property when I determined to leave.”

“That was when you saw the Seer?” Ericka asked. She tested the blade on her thumb and seemed pleased with the edge.

“Yes.” He stared into the middle distance. “It is a great gift, to be given back one’s own mind.”

Ericka began work on her other sword. “You seem to know your own mind pretty well. Maybe all you needed was a shock to the system.”

He smiled faintly.“I suppose so.”

Telling stories was how people connected. When they had first met, Deekin had told Ericka stories about Old Master, and she had told him about her Master Drogan. Even if you hadn’t been there, hearing someone’s story could make you feel like you were, and that was how you understood each other. And as they traveled together, they had stories of their joint experiences that they could tell others. Stories were like strings, tying everyone together into a web of experiences.

“I cannot say who I might have been, had I not been scooped up in Sigil,” Valen said thoughtfully.“If I had been able to remain there, safe from the Blood War…I do not know what sort of man I would have become. And there is a part of me that regrets having those choices stripped from me.”

“I’m probably presuming on our brief acquaintance, but I think you’ve turned out all right.” Ericka smiled at him, sheathing her second sword and moving on to the array of daggers she kept concealed on various parts of her person.“You’re a good man, Valen, and there are plenty of people who’ve never been anywhere near the Blood War who can’t claim that.”

He blinked at her, touched, and then shrugged his shoulders and said, “I have the Seer to thank for that.”

“I don’t know if I’d entirely agree with that.”

“How so?” Valen shot her a hard look.

“I’m probably just presuming again,” she said, her own eyes still fixed on the knife in her hands, “but it seems to me that it’d be more accurate to say she gave you the strength to save yourself.”

The tension vanished from his shoulders, and he gazed at her profile for a long, silent moment. “Perhaps,” he said softly. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, another smile curving her mouth as she added an additional knife to the growing assortment in front of her. His brow furrowed. “My lady…where do you  _keep_ all of those?”

“One in each gauntlet, one in each boot, two on the belt…” Her smile grew sly. “If you want to see where the other ones go, you’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

He laughed. “You are wicked, my lady.”

“Hardly,” she replied fastidiously. “If I was really wicked, I’d just give you a guided tour.” His face colored and she added, her grin grown deeply mischievous, “Besides, I’m not the one who’s done a ‘favor’ for a marilith.”

“I should have never told you about that,” he sighed. “You are not going to let me forget about it, are you?”

“Well, if you’re not going to tell me, I’m just going to keep making baseless assumptions. And they’re going to keep getting wilder and more lurid.” He shook his head with a sigh of irritation and she laughed delightedly. But her smiled faded as she caught sight of someone ascending the hill. It was a human woman, so colorless from years of underground confinement that one could only guess what shade her skin had been on the surface. Her face was lined and drawn, though Deekin knew better than to try to guess her age. Years of slavery and fear could make anyone look far older than their actual years.

“My lady,” the woman said slowly, catching her breath, “I understand you were last in Waterdeep, before you came below.” She had a familiar accent - Deekin couldn’t quite place it, but he knew he’d heard it before, and recently.

Ericka nodded. “I was.”

“Is it true the drow’s Valsharess is attacking the city?” There was a note of near-hysteria in the woman’s voice.

“I’m afraid so,” Ericka said. “But that’s why I’m here, so she can be stopped.”

“You destroyed the priests,” the woman replied. “I’m sure you can. But...” she bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. “...when you return...if you have the chance...If you go to the Castle Ward, off the Street of Bells, on Derazin Lane, and you find the family of Henry Blackbow...Tell them Clara still lives.”

Ericka gazed at Clara Blackbow for a long moment, swallowing to push down the lump in her throat. “I’ll do that.”

Tears streaked down Clara’s craggy cheeks. “May the gods bless you, my lady.”

“I hope so,” Ericka whispered, smiling tightly. Clara nodded and turned away, back down the hill. “Deeks...write that down. Don’t let me forget.”

Deekin flipped to a clean page in his notebook.  _Waterdeep – Castle Ward – Street of Bells - Derazin Lane - Henry Blackbow – Clara_ . He stared at the words on the page. There was a whole life there, laid out in a names and a place. A story was there, and not just one person’s. He looked up at Ericka.“Boss? How long we gonna be here?”

“Um...” She glanced at Valen. “I figured we’d stay the evening here. Head back to Lith My’athar in the morning. Why?”

“Deekin gots an idea.” With that, he hopped to his feet, heading down the hill to the newly made freemen of Drearing’s Deep. The first person he came to was a gnome, a squat, dark-haired male. “Excuse me,” Deekin said, pencil point hovering over paper. “Who is you? How you get here? Where is you from?”

By the time they left Drearing’s Deep the next day, he had collected seventy-two names.

 


	8. A Field of White

Nathyrra wondered why the Seer was lurking about outside the room, especially when she could hear Valen and Ericka’s voices in the hallway long before she reached the door. She had asked them all to meet and obviously they were all arrived, so what was she waiting for?

“They just are!” she heard Ericka exclaim. “All those eyes…”

Nathyrra drew near the open door, and the Seer put a finger to her smiling lips as she approached. She furrowed her brow in confusion, but held her tongue, glancing into the map room, where the human and tiefling were still talking, unaware of their audience.

“Worse than the illithids, even?” Valen looked amused.

“Yes! Don’t ask me to explain it, but beholders give me the creeps.”

“And it’s the eyes, you say?” He crooked his forefingers at her, waving them like beholder eyestalks.

“Ew!” She slapped at his shoulder, smiling in spite of herself. “Stop that!”

Nathyrra caught the Seer’s eye, unsure of what to make of what she was seeing. The Seer smiled and whispered, “They are rather…cute, are they not?” The elvish word in the midst of a drow sentence was jarring, but apropos; what she was seeing was most definitely not a scene typical of the Underdark. “It is good to see Valen smile,” the Seer continued softly. “I have always known that he is not meant to remain among us forever. Perhaps Ericka was sent here to help set him on the next stage of his journey, as well as to provide us aid.” She smiled. “The gods can be very economical at times.”

“You would know better than I,” Nathyrra replied. “Shall we go in, or-” The Seer suddenly inhaled sharply, her eyes going blank. “Mother Seer?”

She had not bothered to keep her voice low, and Ericka and Valen, now aware of their presence, both stood quickly. “Is she alright?” Ericka asked, her forehead creased with nervous concern. She extended a hesitant hand, but Nathyrra stopped her.

“Don’t touch her. She is having a vision.”

The Seer stood stiff and painfully straight, her staring eyes unfocused. “Did it just begin?” Valen asked.

“Yes,” Nathyrra said. “In just a moment-” The Seer gulped in a deep breath, swaying as she blinked hard. Valen steadied her with a hand on her shoulder, and she smiled up at him.

“Thank you.” She turned her smile to Ericka, who was still wide-eyed. “I…apologize if I worried you.”

“Well, I…” Ericka chuckled, her tense shoulders easing. “I’d just never seen someone have a divine vision before.”

“It was not too alarming, I hope?”

Ericka shook her head, and Nathyrra took one of the Seer’s hands in hers. “What did you see, Mother?”

The Seer’s pale violet eyes cut quickly and almost unnoticeably towards Ericka, and she said lightly, “It was fragmentary at best. I shall have to meditate upon the images to glean some meaning. Come. We have much to discuss.”

They spent the next several hours deep in planning, poring over the jumble of maps and reports. But Nathyrra, to her displeasure, could not give the matter at hand her full attention. There had been warning in the Seer’s eyes. Whatever she had seen, she had not wanted to speak of it in front of Ericka, and that was deeply disquieting.

If Ericka or Valen had noticed it, however, neither gave any sign. Ericka stood when their meeting had drawn to a close, stretching her arms over her head and smiling cheerfully at Valen. “I’m starving. Wanna get a bite to eat, handsome?” He rolled his eyes but stood as well, the faintest line of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Nathyrra?”

“Another time, perhaps,” Nathyrra said, glancing at the Seer. Ericka shrugged, bid them a good evening, and turned for the door, Valen a few steps behind.

“You seem disappointed,” he remarked as they departed.

“You didn’t blush,” she said accusingly.

“Perhaps I am immune to you now.”

“That just means I need new material.”

Nathyrra glanced at the Seer, hoping to see a returned smile. But the older female’s face remained distant and unhappy. “You saw more than you wanted to say, didn't you?”

The Seer pursed her mouth. “I did.”

“Then what was it? Will we…” Nathyrra swallowed uncomfortably. “Will we be defeated?”

“I could not say. I saw nothing of the Valsharess.”

“What did you see, then?”

“I saw…whiteness.” The Seer stared down at her hands, her gaze unseeing. “A field of white, empty and cold. So very cold. And I saw Ericka, alone. She was weeping.” Her eyes lifted towards Nathyrra’s again. “Her journey will not end here; I know this now. But where it will lead her from here is a terrible place, and I fear for her.” She gripped Nathyrra’s hand. “But say nothing of this to her. We cannot be sure where this place is, or what it means.”

* * *

 

That night, as the Seer lay in the still quiet of her quarters, the vision returned, and this time, Ericka was not alone. Valen stood with her, his hand on her shoulder as the icy wind tugged at their cloaks. His eyes glowed a demonic red, and his face was hard with a despairing anger.

“Where are you going, Ericka?” the Seer whispered. “And why does it not comfort me that he will be with you?”

 


	9. Politics and Other Games

"You want me to what?"

"I'm sorry," Zesyyr Maeviir said in a tone that had never known actual apology. "Did I not speak clearly enough to be understood?"

"No, I understood you just fine," Ericka replied, eyeing the young drow uncomfortably. "I just want to be sure you're asking what I think you're asking."

"I am asking you to kill my mother," Zesyyr said irritably. "Surely it is not that foreign a concept, even for a surfacer."

"I've heard of matricide."

"Then I do not understand where our communication difficulty is coming from."

"The fact that you apparently want _me_ to do it. That's what I'm hung up on."

"You are the prophesied savior of Lith My'athar." Zesyyr smirked unpleasantly. "I should think you have quite the vested interest in seeing my mother disposed of."

"And what exactly does your family spat have to do with keeping the Valsharess from knocking down our door?"

"My mother," the drow spat, "is weak. And she will sell you, and the Seer, and all her precious disciples of the dancing goddess to the Valsharess faster than a heartbeat when the opportunity comes. I, on the other hand, am willing to make a stand. So _that_ is your interest, rivvil. Who do you want at your back when your enemies come?"

Ericka said nothing, staring down at the cup of wine between her hands. _If I had a real choice… Neither of you, you jumped-up brat._ Zesyyr tugged a ring from the middle finger of her right hand and slid it over the table towards her. "Show this to the guards at my mother's home. They support me, and will allow you entrance."

Pushing her wine aside, Ericka stood. "I'll think about it," she said shortly.

"Don't think too long," Zesyyr warned. "We're all of us running out of time."

"Believe me, I know." She wasn't sure why, but something prompted her to take the ring. She tried to ignore Zesyyr's smile.

She sighed heavily as she exited the pub, stuffing the ring into her pocket. She'd been warned about the place by Nathyrra and some of the other Eilistraeeans; it was a stronghold of House Maeviir, who'd opened their doors to the followers of Lady Silverhair, if not their hearts. She'd felt the tension in the streets, seen just how tenuous the truce was, and had done her best to avoid dealing with them. The last thing she'd needed was to get dragged into local politics. But she'd also heard that House Maeviir's public house stocked a few surface wines, and she had been getting desperate for a drink that didn't hit her stomach like a brick. This was what she got for trying to indulge herself. The irony burned. She rubbed her forehead and turned towards the Seer's temple. She needed to talk this out, and she could think of only one person who could help.

She found Nathyrra in the temple library. "What can I do for you, Ericka?" she asked, not looking up from her book.

"If you're studying your spells, I can come back. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"I am not." She closed the book. "I was just doing some component research. Have a seat."

Ericka did, resting her elbows on the polished stone table. "I'd always heard that the drow thought it beneath females to practice arcana. Guess that's just talk."

Nathyrra shook her head. "No, your sources are correct. Arcane magic is usually considered only fit for males. But when one is without a House, male or female, one does what is necessary. And I suppose I have a knack for it."

"You should always go with your talents," Ericka agreed. "I guess I'm a bit stuck on cultural differences today."

Nathyrra raised an eyebrow. "How so?" Ericka related her encounter with Zesyyr Maeviir in the pub, showing her the ring, and when she was done, Nathyrra chewed thoughtfully on her knuckle. "We'd suspected that Matron Myrune was… less than enthusiastic about our chances, but if she intends to outright betray us…" She shook her head. "Well, it's no surprise that she would. To be honest, the only reason House Maeviir has survived this long is because they are so small and provincial they'd managed to escape the Valsharess's notice while she hunted larger prey. Myrune hopes to present her with a fat prize now and win her favor, but Zesyyr is a gambler. She will stand with us because if we prevail, she can build something greater out of the ruins." She worried at her finger again. "Two valid political options," she mused. "One looks to the short-term, the other to the long."

"This is why I came to you with this," Ericka said, looking somewhat lost.

"I am rather familiar with the process." Nathyrra smiled wryly, but then her smile faded. "It's such a shame, though. It doesn't have to be like this - constantly playing these games. There is another way."

"That's the other reason I came to you."

"Instead of Valen." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

"Well…yeah." Ericka wasn't quite sure why the casual mention of his name made her feel awkward. "I know he's been with you all for a while now, but…he's not religious, and politics don't really seem to be his forte. At least not drow politics."

Nathyrra smiled without humor. "One usually needs the experience of having survived them to understand them. But at least you understand that Zesyyr's request is entirely political. I understand that surfacers tend to go about things differently."

"Please." Ericka snorted. "I grew up in Westgate. The ruling families there are more than happy to knock each other off when they get the chance." She shrugged her shoulders in concession. "But it isn't as…institutionalized on the surface. Most of the time." She glanced down at the table. "What should I do, Nathyrra?"

"If Myrune turns on us," Nathyrra mused, "and withdraws her House's support, we will lose half our fighting forces."

"And the Valsharess will gain them." Ericka grimaced. "Like she needs the help."

"Possible. Unless the Matron intends to find the convenient hole to hide in until the rockslide is over."

"Either way, we can't let that happen." Ericka's sigh sent a lock of black hair fluttering. "I don't suppose we can just talk to her about it?" Her tone was not hopeful.

"If she is set upon her course, I doubt we two can change her mind. After all, you are a foreigner and I am a heretic." Nathyrra's mouth twisted very slightly in something near bitterness.

"Does that bother you? Being a heretic?"

"No." Her reply was firm and immediate. "But…it does sadden me that so often my people seem like strangers now." She shook herself. "We need House Maeviir on our side. That is what we must focus on."

"Right." Ericka's eyes widened suddenly as a thought struck her. "What if Zesyyr is just using us? What if all she wants is to replace her mother and she intends to betray us too?"

"You've been here long enough for paranoia, I see," Nathyrra chuckled. "And it is a legitimate concern, save for that." She nodded towards the ring on the table. "She has the support of others in House Maeviir, which means she is offering them a genuine alternative to Myrune's course. It is rare in the best interest of the males of a House to aid in the deposition of a Matron if all they are offered is the continuance of the status quo."

Ericka shook her head and sighed. "My gods. This is too deep for me. She got us by the ears, hasn't she?" She sucked in an angry breath. " _Dammit_. I've spent half my life trying to avoid being an assassin and now some damn drow…" Her eyes cut towards her companion, and she cleared her throat. "No offense."

"None taken." Nathyrra smiled.

"Well…you're the expert." Ericka scratched her chin sourly. "How do we kill a drow Matron?"

"Carefully, and with great planning."

* * *

They had climbed to the roof of the Maeviir guard barracks, the armory tower of which had an excellent view of the front courtyard of Matron Myrune's residence. "We were speaking of Valen earlier," Nathyrra said.

"What about him?" Ericka continued to scan the building's façade intently.

"Have you bedded him yet?"

Ericka's head whipped towards the other woman, her mouth agape. "I…what? NO!"

"Oh." Nathyrra blinked. "Why not?"

Ericka forced herself to swallow. "Um…why would I?"

Nathyrra shrugged. "He is attractive, you are attractive... and the way you speak to him, I had thought that was your intent."

"Well…" She laughed weakly. "I admit, he's fun to flirt with, but…" Nathyrra shot her a puzzled look. "…you don't really flirt down here, do you?"

"I have heard the word," the drow said slowly, "but never a good definition of it."

"Flirting is…teasing. It's a way of expressing…interest, and admiration, and yes, it can be about attraction, but it doesn't necessarily have to be romantic." Ericka shrugged, oddly sheepish and not sure quite why. "But it's fun. It's a game, I guess, in a way."

"Games I can understand." Nathyrra pursed her lips, still looking vaguely perplexed. "But why speak the language of seduction if seduction is not your design?"

Ericka started to reply, then stopped, gathering her thoughts. "Well," she replied finally, "it _is_ fun, just for its own sake. But…sometimes you just know seduction isn't going to happen."

"Oh, he prefers females. I'm quite sure of that," Nathyrra said reassuring, and Ericka laughed.

"I'm sure he does." She smiled rubbed her forehead, trying to cover an embarrassment she couldn't entirely account for. "I mean, I do like him, Nathyrra – he's smart, and he's interesting, and he's got an amazing sense of humor lurking under all that scowling. And you're right – he _is_ attractive. Very. Plus, it is _hilarious_ to get him flustered. But..." She moved her shoulders vaguely. "...when this is all over…if we all survive it…he'll go his way and I'll go mine. I may as well enjoy it while it lasts, but there's no point in getting attached. So I'm not."

Nathyrra looked thoughtful, then shook her head. "I still feel as though there is something I'm missing, but then, there is a great deal about the surface I don't understand. Hopefully someday I will." Her eyes darted down into the courtyard. "Look," she said quickly, her tone shifted from girl talk to professionalism in the space of one word. Ericka followed her gaze, and saw a trio of guards exit the front door. The one most obviously senior glared at his subordinates, berating them, but they didn't seem terribly cowed. He yanked the door shut, but not before allowing a glimpse of a female hovering nervously just out of the doorway.

"Not even leaving the house now, is she?"

"Apparently she knows not all her guards are on her side now." Nathyrra sighed. "And the fact that she's hiding means she knows that Zesyyr has broken with her. Which means her daughter is telling the truth about her plans."

The loyalist male stalked off towards the guard barracks, passing out of their line of sight. Ericka glanced at Nathyrra. "We should probably move, huh?"

"Yes. We have easy access and she will be unguarded. But she will not defenseless. No one becomes a Matron Mother by gentleness." Ericka nodded, and they began to climb down the side of the tower.

The guards at the main door saw Zesyyr's ring and smirked nastily as they ignored the two females' entrance. Ericka and Nathyrra stole soundlessly through the first level of the house, until they came to the half-opened door of a large study. Matron Myrune stood before the fireplace, and they exchanged a long, understanding look, culminating in a quick nod, before Nathyrra entered the room, not bothering to conceal herself. "Matron Myrune. We need to speak."

The Matron's head came up quickly. "How did you- Oh, it doesn't matter." She peered at the younger female. "I know you. The former Red Sister who found religion." She sneered. "So you kill in Eilistraee's name now?"

Nathyrra's jaw tightened. "No. I would never evoke her name in something as sordid as this. But you cannot be permitted to betray us to the Valsharess. Not after all we have endured, and certainly not now that we finally have a chance to defeat her."

Myrune snorted coldly. "Then did your Seer send you, or did you come here in the hopes that killing me would win you greater favor?"

"No matter the reason, she will take no joy in this. She is too good."

The Matron was about to make a scathing reply when a hand seized her from behind and a knife closed on her throat. "And that's why I'm here," Ericka whispered. "You see, the Seer is decent. I'm not. So don't struggle. This knife is sharp; you'll barely feel it."

It only took Matron Myrune a moment to die. And after wiping her knife on the Matron's dress, Ericka pulled the heavily jeweled signet ring from the limp hand. She expected to feel something, and it was discomfiting that she did not. The line between stealth kills in the line of adventuring and outright assassination had always been dangerously thin, but it was one she had maintained with vigor. But one slit throat seemed to be about the same as another. She sighed, and forced herself to meet Nathyrra's eyes. The calm understanding there was reassuring, and she slipped the ring into a belt pouch. "Thank you for helping me with this, Nathyrra."

The drow inclined her head. "You are welcome," she said. "Please remember, Ericka, that this is the Underdark. It is the rules that are different here, not you."

Ericka swallowed, then nodded. "Well…time to go let Zesyyr know she's gotten a promotion."

* * *

A large, somewhat gaudy ring clattered onto the table in front of Zesyyr Maeviir. "It's done," the surfacer said shortly.

"My, you do work quickly," Zesyyr beamed. "I should have thought of this days ago."

Ericka laid the palms of her hands flat on the stone, and leaned over the new Matron Mother with narrowed eyes. "Damn you for making me do this, you entitled little monster," she hissed. "Now you had better hold your end of the bargain, or you _will_ live to regret it."

"You are very frightening." Zesyyr collected the ring with the appearance of calm, but her hand shook slightly. "As if you could be more threatening than the Valsharess."

"If you betray us," Ericka said, in a soft, steady tone, "your only hope to escape me will be to outlive me. That is a promise." She turned for the door. "Enjoy your new house."

She had only taken a few strides into the street when Commander Imloth jogged towards her. "My Lady Ericka," he said. "Have you seen Valen?"

"Not today. Why?"

"I have news." He looked around, worried and slightly winded. "Our scouts have returned. They have seen advance elements of the Valsharess's army two days from here. She is coming."


	10. Stars in the Sky

Ericka sat on the steps of the temple and tried not to think about the morning. 'Morning' was, of course, a misnomer – there was no morning in the Underdark, only the time after waking. And when waking came next, the Valsharess and her army would be upon them. That was probably why she didn't want to sleep.

To her surprise, Ericka realized she wasn't afraid of the coming battle. Ultimately, it would be like any other time she had gone into combat, only with more participants. It certainly wasn't as if the rebels weren't ready. Their defenses were as solid as they could possibly be, and after their successes against the vampire cult, the illithid, and the beholders, the Valsharess would have only her drow. They were ready for her, and when she arrived, she would learn that the hard way.

But sleep was still miles away.

She heard someone behind her. The step was light, but there was weight behind it. Someone tall, who knew how to carry themselves with care and purpose. She didn't have to look back to know who it was. "Hello, Valen."

"You should rest, my lady."

"Easier said than done, handsome," she replied. He snorted softly, and sat beside her.

"Then you at least should try."

She gave him a sidelong look and challenged, "Well, what about you? You're the one who's going to be in charge tomorrow."

"In name only. They look to you, Ericka. We all do."

She turned her head, eyebrows lifted in surprise at the words. How far they'd come from that first meeting in the temple, even if it hadn't been all that long ago. She wanted to make a smart comment to that effect, but something about his eyes stopped the words in her throat. She had become used to the intensity of his gaze, but they seemed to be burning especially bright as he looked at her. Was he afraid? Did the impending battle worry him? No, that didn't seem like him. And the fire in his eyes seemed to be directed not inward, but out. Towards her.

She managed a weak laugh. "Me, a symbol of hope. Who'd have thought that?"

He smiled slightly. "Even symbols of hope need their sleep."

"Fine, fine." She stuck her tongue out at him partway. "Nag." His smile spread, and she found herself mirroring the expression. "You know, I'm glad that we…I'm glad we're friends, Valen. I know you didn't like me very much at first."

"It was not that I did not like you. On the contrary, I-" He cleared his throat. "I was…threatened by what you represented. I see the error of my ways now."

"So I won you over?" She nudged him in the ribs, a joking grin on her face, but he simply looked at her, his solemn blue eyes arresting.

"Yes. You did."

She felt light-headed, and realized it was because she seemed to have forgotten to breathe. There was an undertow pulling at her, and she wasn't sure what would happen if she stopped fighting it. She looked away, straightening her legs in front of her in as casual a manner as she could. "All right, I'll get some sleep. If only so we can get this over with. I'll be honest, I'm…ready to see the sky again."

He nodded. "I have often missed the stars since I came here."

"There are stars on other planes?"

"Of course. They wheel in the skies over Sigil like a great dance. Sometimes, they are even visible during the day. I have seen them on the plane of Limbo, moving like drunken fireflies, with no pattern or reason to be found in their movement. And I'm told that on the plane of Heliopolis, they form a perfect grid across the night sky."

"That sounds boring."

"That's Heliopolis for you."

They laughed, gazing up towards the upper limit of the great cavern that housed Lith My'athar, invisible in the gloom. After a long, quiet moment, he said, "I think I would like to see the sky from Waterdeep. What shapes do the stars form there?"

She looked back at him, surprised. "You want to go to the surface?"

"I have been to the surface of the Prime Material before, though I saw little of it. It was…not the best experience. Perhaps it might be better…with a guide." It took a conscious act of will to keep her jaw from dropping. Was he suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting? Taking her surprised silence for disapproval, he looked away, saying, "But if you would not wish to, I would-"

"No!" It was his turn to look surprised. "No, I would be happy to, Valen, I just – I thought you'd want to stay here. With the Seer."

"I offered my service to the Seer," he said, "in return for what she did for me. I wanted to ensure her safety, so that she could continue her work. But if we should defeat the Valsharess, the greatest threat against her will be gone." He rested his folded hands on his knee. "I would miss her, but…there is so much more to the Prime Material than just the Underdark, and I would like to see it. And if I could do so with you…a native, then…"

His voice trailed off as their eyes met again. The silence grew breathless, filled with possibilities. _He'll go his way and I'll go mine._ Ericka swallowed, and Valen tilted his head. "Is something wrong, my lady?"

"I, um…I think I may have lied to Nathyrra."

"What about?"

She opened her mouth, then shook herself, smiling brightly. "Nothing important. And you know, I have never gotten to see as much of Waterdeep as I'd like, but I understand that they don't call it the City of Splendors for nothing. Obviously, it's no Sigil, but it's probably got a lot to offer a couple of tourists like us. We could get lost in the wrong part of town."

"Eat far too much street food?" he offered.

"Of dubious provenance."

"Of course."

"Make fools of ourselves at some stuffy museum."

"Complain about the local wine."

"Buy tacky souvenirs."

"I would like that," he said, smiling. "All of it. And…it is good to have something to look forward to. That can be a rare luxury." She nodded her agreement, and he seemed to realize then how close to each other they were sitting, his shoulder brushing hers. He straightened slightly. "But first – we should sleep."

She thought about teasing him. An indecent pun perhaps, some entendre spun from his words. But she couldn't. Maybe she was too tired, or her nerves were getting the better of her, but for once, she was tongue-tied. Before she could stop herself, she reached out, tucking a loose strand of his red hair back behind his right horn. Her fingers lingered there, and she was suddenly reminded of the air before a lightning strike. She tried her voice, and after a few false starts, it finally worked. "We should." Her hand lowered, and she shot him another cheery smile. "Just remember – if you go and get yourself killed, you won't get to see Waterdeep."

"All the more reason not to." He stood, offering her his hand. She came to her feet with his help, and it did not occur to her to release his hand when she had. It was rough with years of calluses, the strength to put down armies contained in a surprisingly gentle grip. He glanced down at their joined hands, and back up at her. His voice was strangely husky. "Good night, my lady."

He released her hand, inclined his head, and disappeared into the temple. Ericka stared after him, trying to figure out why her heart was suddenly racing. "Sweet Tymora," she whispered to herself. "What just happened?"


	11. Victory and Death

They had struck back, harder and better than Valen could have imagined even a month before. The armies of the Valsharess broke on the walls of Lith My'athar, their attempted flank from the river repelled with vigor and spirit. It had been thrilling to stand at the head of a unified force and send the dark wave crashing back on itself, to feel the pure, primal joy of besting a foe, to test his strength and skill against another and emerge the victor. It was not so much that his weapon was a part of him, but more that he was a part of it, and he let it guide him through the dance of life and death. It was beautiful, in its bloody way, and while he would never again let himself love it, he could still admire it.

Once or twice in the press of battle, he had seen Ericka, or thought he had. Her talents were well suited to fighting the drow, for she could match them on their own terms. She was a silent, weaving presence on the battlefield, and the few times he caught a glimpse of her, he had to smile, even in the midst of combat. It looked as if he might owe the Seer's goddess an apology. He was all right with that.

They found themselves in the unusual position of being at an advantage, and they pressed it for all they could, pushing the remnants of the Valsharess's forces back to her stronghold on the edge of the Mytheria Gorge. They paused for a moment to assess their situation, and Ericka jogged up beside him, Deekin at her heels. Her eyes were bright and an arch grin lit her face. "Aw…they went home. Should we go knock on the door and see if they still want to play with us?" The Seer laughed and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"What do you think, Valen?"

He scanned the fortifications, nodding, and let a small smile slip. "We have an excellent opportunity here, Seer. It would be foolish to let it pass us by."

"And foolish is not something Valen Shadowbreath does," Ericka said, turning her smile to him. His heart contracted strangely at the sight.  _Waterdeep_ , he thought, and took a deep breath.

"Nathyrra, get Imloth. And Ericka, have Ferron's golems form up on our left."

She nodded quickly, shifted her weight to move…and vanished.

For an instant, they all froze. The Seer, whose hand had rested on Ericka's shoulder, stood wide-eyed, hand still hovering in mid-air. Valen and Nathyrra exchanged a look, too stunned for speech. Deekin broke the silence with a small, plaintive, "Boss?" He looked about frantically. "Boss!?"

The Seer closed her eyes and reopened them, white with Seeing. "This was not mortal magic," she whispered.

Nathyrra inhaled, aghast. "The Valsharess's devil lord. Even now she compels him. What magic does she have to force him so?"

Valen felt his lips peel back from his teeth. "Baatezu," he growled. "There is a no depravity they will not sink to." The Seer, her eyes returned to normal, reached up to touch his cheek.

"Valen. If the Valsharess is defeated, her devil is still easily banished. Ericka knows that, and I do not think she would wish us to forget it." She placed a light, meaningful emphasis on the words, and Valen forced himself to breathe.

"Of course," he said with a nod. Deekin's snout turned in a deep frown.

"What about Boss?"

Nathyrra, half-turned to resume her search for Imloth, gave the kobold a careful pat on the head. "She is made of strong stuff, little one. Trust her."

Valen took another deep breath, commanding himself to heed Nathyrra's words. No matter the enemy's tactics, they could never let themselves be thrown off balance. Taking Ericka from their midst could only strengthen their resolve. They had come too far to falter now. He gripped his flail and readied himself to sound the charge, even as a tiny voice in the recesses of his mind whispered that it would be the greatest of injustices for Ericka to be sacrificed for their victory. He couldn't let that happen. It wouldn't be fair.

Before he could shout, a bestial cry, ragged with hate-filled joy, rang from the Valsharess's fortress, and Valen found himself snarling a guttural, instinctual reply. A wave of pure diabolic energy rushed over them like a wave of unseen blood, and the great doors of the stronghold suddenly clanged open. The heavy dark hand of the archdevil's will closed over every heart, stilling the breath and weighting the heart.

"He is free," the Seer breathed in horror. "Then the Valsharess is dead. And-"

 _And so is Ericka_. The thought completed itself in Valen's mind. The Seer might have finished it aloud, but if she did, he never heard it over the sudden silence that descended over him, deafening his ears to everything but the sound of his own heartbeat. When they had first met, he had told her (with spite, he remembered remorsefully) that only actions would win his faith. And hers had. If the archdevil remained unbanished, it could only be because she had fallen trying to accomplish it.

He threw the thought away, casting it behind an iron door. And as he did, a hulking red shape slouched through the gates, arrogance and malice pouring from it as heat from a forge. In its wake streamed the Valsharess's remaining troops, their eyes glazed under the force of the devil lord's control. Valen tightened his fists on his flail's handle. "I am one with my will," he whispered between clenched teeth. Between each ragged breath, he forced himself to finish the mantra. "One with my mace.  _Its path is my intent_ , its length my reach, its thundering blow my gentle kiss…"

I'll never get to-

"Seer," he growled, eyes fixed on the devil's approach, "you should go." In his peripheral vision, he saw her shake her head.

"No."

"Fall back!"

Nathyrra took the Seer's arm. She at least, her goddess bless her, understood. "Mother, he is right. We cannot risk you!"

"I-" The Seer's eyes were huge and wet with tears, but after what seemed like a year of hesitation, she let Nathyrra pull her away. Valen looked down at Deekin.

"You too, kobold."

The little bard snapped a bolt into his crossbow, face set. "Deekin follows Boss."

Valen ground his teeth. He was surrounded by martyrs! "She is dead, you little fool." Deekin met his glare pugnaciously, cocking the weapon with one defiant motion.

"Deekin. Follows. Boss."

Their eyes met, and he could see the terror in the kobold's stance. But stronger than his fear was his devotion, and that, Valen could respect. "Very well, then. Come with me."

It was not the organized, overwhelming charge he had hoped for mere moments before. It was fueled with fear and desperation and rage. But he had the comfort of knowing that when he drew his last breath, it was in the Seer's defense, and Ericka's memory.

* * *

 

He had always wondered, and sometimes feared, where he would go after his death. Would it be the home of warriors of good intent, or would his father's fiendish blood consign him to the Abyss, regardless of how he had lived his life? It was with some surprise that he realized, when awareness returned, that he was in neither place. He was in a gray, featureless expanse, unmarked by any landmark or boundary. This was eternity? "How dull," he said aloud.

"This is not your destination, wanderer."

He whirled around to see the source of the strange metallic voice, and found himself face to…he supposed it was a face, with a cloaked and hooded figure. "You wait here in the borderlands, on the dusky edges, because you cannot go forward."

"Why can I not?" Valen peered into the featureless void of the hood. "Have I some unfinished business even I am not aware of?"

"But you  _are_  aware of it, fiendish one. You hear her voice, do you not?"

_Valen._

It was the faintest sigh of a word, carried on an unfelt wind, but he knew it all the same. "Yes," he whispered. "Where is she?"

"Follow me," said the figure, "and I will take you to her. She has need of you yet."

_Valen._

He drew back his shoulders. "Lead the way."

"Valen!"

There were arms around his neck, and suddenly he realized he was in another place. And there was a slim figure pressed against him, black hair falling over amber brown eyes that met his with disbelief and joy. He stared at Ericka, whole and unharmed and, to his confused pleasure, clinging to him. Without pausing for the usual intermediaries of reason or thought, his arms lifted of their own accord to embrace her in return. She gave a small squeak. "Ow. Armor."

It occurred to him then that he  _was_  wearing his full armor, and it was likely very uncomfortable to be squeezed against the steel and mithril. He hastily stepped back from her and she rubbed her collarbone, smiling a bit ruefully. "You're here," she said softly.

He swallowed uncertainly. "And you are alive."

Her gaze dropped. "Sort of."

"The other comes, Sojourner," the robed figure intoned. And Deekin was there, appearing so quickly he might have always been there. Ericka dropped to one knee, wrapping her arms around the skinny kobold, and suddenly Valen did not feel quite so special.

"Hey, Deeks," she said. Solemnly, he patted her cheek.

"Boss is okay?"

She nodded a bit vaguely. "As okay as I can be, I think." She sank from her kneeling position into a seat on the stone floor, and Deekin joined her, curling up at her side like a child. Valen finally brought himself to examine his surroundings. They were in a long, windowless room, with a vaulted ceiling above. Arched doorways filled with swirling light clustered at one end, and the other was dominated by a single door whose lights whirled like blowing snow. At its center was a stepped dais, where the cloaked figure stood, utterly motionless.

Those doors were planar gates – he had seen enough of them in his life to know one when he saw it. Which made this place a nexus of some kind. How had they come to be here? "My lady…what is this place?"

Ericka looked up at him tiredly and said, "You may as well sit too, Valen. This is going to take a while." He furrowed his brow, but sat beside her. Despite being seemingly made of stone, the floor was pleasantly warm. She was silent again for a moment, then said, "Deekin, do you remember when we were in Undrentide, and we crossed into the Plane of Shadow?" He nodded.

"We was lookin' for the winds, to beat the snake lady."

"Yeah…and that was where I found the relic."

"Uh huh…hey." He peered at her belt. "You don't gots it anymore."

"No, I don't. But I'll get to that in a minute. And you remember later when we faced Heurodis? The snake lady?" Deekin nodded again.

"She was tough. Gots you good. Dorna thoughts you was dead for sure!"

"That's because I was."

Deekin blinked, bewildered. "Deekin didn't know this part of the story."

"I could never bring myself to tell you and Dorna what actually happened. Because…when I died…I came here."

Valen leaned forward, fascinated. "Then that relic…somehow it diverted your soul from its destination." She nodded in agreement.

"I came here, and I met the Reaper there." She indicated the silent being on the dais with a movement of her chin. "He said he could send me back. I took him up on it. And I hung to the thing for the next five years…I guess in the back of my mind I thought of it as some kind of death insurance. Even though I never wanted to come back here." She glanced at the Reaper. "Nothing personal."

"No offense taken, Sojourner." There was something like a hint of amusement in the metallic voice.

"Then…" Valen studied her down-turned profile. "Then you did die at the Valsharess's hands. But how is it that-"

"Not hers," Ericka said firmly. "And…that's where it gets complicated." She took a deep breath. "The archdevil she had bound is named Mephistopheles." Valen felt his eyes widen, and a fleeting, humorless smile touched her lips. "You've heard of him, I see."

"He rules an entire realm in the Hells! How did one mortal manage to hold him?"

"She didn't. Not really. She thought she did, but…that's the thing. It was all a ploy." She stared down at her lap, and swallowed bitterly. "He just wanted his relic back." Something very cold slid into Valen's stomach, his horror growing as she continued in a hoarse whisper. "It's a key, and this place is the lock. Now that he has it, I have no way to open it again. There's no way I can go back to the Prime Material now. Not even a priest can summon me back." Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, sliding down the contours of her cheeks and nose to splash on the floor. "And now I've trapped you two here with me. I'm so sorry."

"They came to you of their own free will, Sojourner," the Reaper said, almost chidingly. "And I would open the door to your world for you once more, if I could."

"And why can you not?" Valen demanded hotly. Seeing her in tears was agonizing. He wanted to do something – anything – to make them disappear and could think of nothing.

"Because," the Reaper replied calmly, "Mephistopheles commands my obedience whether I will it or not. He possesses the knowledge of my True Name. And as I told you, Sojourner, the one from whom he gained that knowledge remains in his realm of Cania, and  _that_  door I can still open."

Valen gaped, his angry evaporating. "You would allow her such power over you?"

The robed shoulders moved in an expressive shrug. "A lord of the Hells possesses it already. She can certainly be no worse."

Ericka sniffled hard and looked up, wiping her cheeks quickly as she climbed to her feet. "So…Cania. That's really my only option at this point, isn't it?" The Reaper silently inclined his hooded head, and she took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut tight to push the last of the tears from them. When she opened them, her face was resolute. "That one?" She nodded towards the solitary door.

The Reaper bowed his head again, and a gust of frigid wind poured through the doorway. Ericka swallowed hard, gripping her cloak tight to her throat. "A word of advice, before you depart," the Reaper said. "There is one in Cania as foreign to that place as yourself. He lies waiting for one he knows only in dreams, but he can aid you. Seek him out."

"Alright." She glanced at Deekin, and at Valen, and reached down to the kobold stand. She extended her hand next to Valen, who didn't need the aid, but took it anyway. They stood there for a moment, his hand in hers. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles restlessly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, squeezing his hand before releasing it. Before he could reply, she turned determinedly towards the door, and led them into Hell.


	12. A Cold Night in Hell

Ericka tucked Deekin's cloak closer around the sleeping kobold's chin. "I don't know how he can sleep right now," she sighed. "But I guess that's just his gift. Lucky little guy."

Valen nodded, but didn't reply. They had come into Cania in the middle of the grandly named City of Lost Souls, but the place was in reality more of an oversized mining camp, centered around the ice quarry where the devilish inhabitants dug at the endless glaciers. Night had been falling as they arrived, and the combination of the bitter cold and the need to reorient themselves and figure out their next move had brought them to the only public accommodation to be found – the Hellsbreath Tavern.

He hated it. Every instinct screamed that this place was foul and wrong, and even though he knew it was the fiend's voice fueling his temper, seizing his flail and smashing this so-called 'tavern' into rubble sounded like a fine idea. It would be a delightful catharsis to rain down suffering on each and every one of the thrice-accursed devils of this disgusting plane. He gave his head a shake to try and clear it, but then he saw the look on Ericka's face and the demon was silenced entirely.

She hugged herself tightly, eyes miserable. "I'm so sorry, Valen," she whispered. "You must hate me for this."

"You have been apologizing for some time, my lady," he said, as gently as he could. "Why would I hate you?"

"I failed the Seer. And I brought you  _here_." She rubbed her upper arms, gazing around the tiny alcove room with distaste. "It's so bloody cold. Even down here."

"I do not think there is anything you could have done to prevent our defeat." He glanced at the ground, trying not to see the Seer's gentle eyes. He wanted to tell her to blame him instead, but he knew her well enough by now to know better. "And in all honesty, despite my discomfort here, I was rather touched that you… thought of me, when you found yourself in the Reaper's realm."

She tilted her head, looking almost perplexed. "I can't do this without you. I need you here." She flushed. "Both of you," she clarified, glancing at Deekin. The kobold snored.

"Of course." Valen cleared his throat, and Ericka returned to rubbing her arms. He sighed sympathetically – sometimes he forgot how sensitive Primes were to extremes of temperature. He pulled his cloak from the back of the nearby chair where it had hung and flung it around her shoulders. She smiled her thanks, but still looked chilled, and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her. They both stiffened in surprise; she at the gesture and he that he had made it, but then she relaxed against him, returning the embrace, and he forced himself to breathe again.

"This is better than when you were wearing your armor." She almost sounded as if she were smiling.

He chuckled awkwardly. "I apologize for that. I…wasn't thinking."

"It's okay," she said. "I was glad to see you too." She was silent for a moment, and it seemed that her shivering seemed to lessen. "You're nice and warm."

"I am glad to share."

He found that the longer he held her, the less inclined he was to stop, and she made no move to disentangle herself. It struck him then how small she was, barely the average height for a human woman. Perhaps it was her outsized personality that had kept him from noticing, but now, so close to her, he realized he had to bend his neck to rest his chin on the top of her head. He had to fight back the impulse to growl a warning for each and every one of the devils beyond the closed door. He would protect her here. He had to. She had been lost once; he could not bear to let it happen again.

She spoke then. "Can we keep doing this, but…sit?"

He gazed down at her owlishly, surprised, then nodded quickly, and cleared his pack from the end of the bench against the far wall, which was something of an exaggerated term, considering the size of the room. He sat, and she joined him, sliding her arms around his waist, still draped in both their cloaks. "This is nice," she said, looking up at him with a small smile. Then she rested her head against his shoulder, and he wondered for a second if his heart had stopped. He carefully slipped his arm across her shoulders; she made a small, pleased murmur and then he was sure there must have been at least a beat or two skipped.

He couldn't think of a thing to say, but that seemed to be all right, because she didn't seem inclined to speak either. In the quiet that followed, his thoughts drifted, and in his mind's eye, he found himself in front of the temple again, watching Ericka and Nathyrra spar. (It had been barely a tenday ago, he realized – strange that it felt like eons) Their styles were similar, fluid and quick, and they seemed quite evenly matched. He heard a light step behind him, and turned his head at the Seer's approach.

"Who do you think will prevail?" she asked, smiling.

"Nathyrra's faster, and she knows how to fight close. She's good at getting inside her opponent's defense. But Ericka's clever. Watch how she feints – she never does it the same way twice. She's unpredictable. That's why she'll win."

"You admire her."

He desperately hoped that the heat he felt on his face was not a blush. "I have come to, in these past days. She is an excellent fighter and a solid strategist. It is always a pleasure to fight alongside one who knows what they are doing."

"That is not entirely what I meant." The Seer's reproof was all the worse for the amusement it contained.

"If you mean personally," he said stiffly, "then yes, that is true as well. You were right about her. She does have the strength of will to stand against the Valsharess. She is an honorable woman, and she has a good heart. One has only to see how fond she is of that ridiculous kobold to know that." His eyes returned to the dusty circle and the two females just in time to see Ericka disarm Nathyrra. Deekin, on the opposite side, broke into immediate paroxysms of joy at her victory, and she laughed as she bent to retrieve the drow woman's weapon for her. She spotted him watching, and her pleased grin turned teasing for a moment, the expression so infectious he could not help but return it. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Seer smiling again, and he swore mentally. She had noticed.

"Admire is a word with many connotations," she said. "And there are some things I do not need the goddess's aid to see." She patted his arm, and withdrew back into the temple.

She was right, as always. And he had determined, there on the temple steps, that he should not broach the subject to Ericka. It was likely that she did not feel the same, after all, and it would only complicate things. Better, he thought, to simply offer her his companionship. He would go with her to the surface, and they would be friends. It would be a start.

But that was before, when the plan had still seemed straightforward. Before everything had quite literally gone to hell.

"I think there is something I should tell you, my lady."

She looked up at him curiously. "What's that?"

"I know we have not known each other long, Ericka, but I do not believe any good can come of leaving this unsaid now." Her expression grew puzzled, and he swallowed, forcing himself off the cliff. "I feel that you should know how...close I feel to you, how much your presence in my life, brief as it has been, has warmed and inspired me. How grateful I am to know you. I feel that there is…something more than friendship between us."

She stared up at him in silence, lips parted, for so long he was certain he must have said something terribly awry. He began to think frantically for a way to climb out of the hole he had just dug for himself when she said, voice uncertain, "Oh. Well...if we're being honest, I guess now would be a good time to say that I- I really-" Her shoulders slumped. "Oh hell," she muttered, and kissed him.

Of all the ways she could have finished the thought, that was the best.

When they parted, he murmured, "I take it then that you feel the same?"

She shook her head, smiling wryly. "You know, for a smart guy, you can be a little dense sometimes, Valen." He drew his brow at her in feigned pique, and the smile broadened. "Yeah," she said softly. "I do. The first time you laughed at one of my smart-mouthed comments, I found myself thinking that you ought to smile like that all the time. I realized there was someone under all that moody, miserable, and surly that I really wanted to get to know. There's so much more to you than that." His throat tightened, and he didn't know why; looking into her eyes was making him light-headed. He had no idea how to respond, but she continued, "I mean, has anyone ever told you that you're funny? And I don't just mean the times I've made you blush for my own amusement, but that you are genuinely witty, and that makes you a pleasure to be with."

"I-" He was completely at a loss for what to do with this information. "I...am flattered, Ericka."

"You shouldn't be," she said. "It's just the truth." Her right hand emerged from the folds of their cloaks and drifted up to his hair, over his horns. She followed the twist in each one with her fingertips, just as she had the first time she'd asked to touch them. "I told Nathyrra that I wasn't going to get attached to you," she said quietly. "But it was already a lie then and it's definitely a lie now."

He cautiously lifted a hand to cradle her cheek against his palm and decided the best answer would be to follow her example and kiss her, because the first had been very enjoyable, and he couldn't think of a good reason to stop at one. His lips found hers and everything he could not yet find the words for, he found another way to say. She heard, and she responded, and understanding flowed between them on speechless lips. That second kiss quickly led to a third, and from there it seemed that it would be foolish to continue counting as they clung to each other as if afraid it was all a dream and waking might come at any moment.

Deekin snuffled loudly in his sleep. They froze.

They withdrew slowly, eyes locked. Ericka was smiling, and her cheeks were flushed. "Well," she murmured, slightly winded. "That was fun."

He nodded in breathless agreement. "Indeed, my lady."

Her smile grew impish, but then she furrowed her brow inquiringly, as if something had just occurred to her. "Why do you still call me that?"

He found he needed to think about it for a moment. Why  _did_  he still call her that? "I suppose it began as formality, which became respect, and then...affection."

She looked at him for a moment, the smile growing softer. "You are quite the smooth talker, handsome."

"And why do you call me that?" he challenged, trying not to preen at the compliment, but she simply shrugged at him.

"Because you are. I'll admit, I started saying it because you're damn cute when you blush, but I promise I have never mocked you when I've called you that. I...could waste a lot of time looking at you."

He tried for a moment or so to not let that go to his head, and realized he was doomed to fail miserably. Their eyes met once more, and kissing her again (and again and again) seemed the perfect way to pass the remainder of the night…

Deekin rolled over with a momentous snore, and if Valen could have willed the kobold out of existence in that moment, he would have ceased to be. Ericka chuckled softly. "We should probably get some sleep, shouldn't we?" He nodded dourly, and she touched his chin, angling his head down to give him one last, lingering kiss. "That'll be a good place to pick up from next time."

"There will be a next time?" He probably looked every bit as hopeful as he felt, because she grinned as she stood.

"Definitely. Good night, Valen." She pulled off her boots and curled up in her bedroll, on the floor near Deekin's. Valen watched her for a few moments before seeking his own blankets, working through the unexpected but wonderful turn the evening had taken. He had refused to let himself seriously consider for a moment that she might return his feelings, and yet, through some miracle he dared not examine too closely, she did. Perhaps being consigned to this hell might not be as unbearable as he had thought, and all because of her. He would have to find a way to thank her for that.

A method came to mind from the depths of his imagination, quite unbidden by conscious thought, and it left him blushing hotly for nearly a half hour afterward.


	13. Romantic Notions

Ericka had feared it would be difficult to uncover the identity of the foreigner to Cania that the Reaper had spoken of, but as it turned out, his presence was impossible to overlook for long. The Sleeping Man, he was called, and it seemed that everyone at least knew of him. The natives of the plane regarded him with a mixture of distaste and fear, and did everything in their power to avoid talking about him. The crowd of glowering githzerai who took up nearly all of the other rooms at the Hellsbreath had apparently come to Cania specifically to see him but seemed distinctly unimpressed by what they had found. But they had, grudgingly and without enthusiasm, parted with the knowledge that all one could wish to know about the Sleeping Man could be learned at the shrine on the edge of the settlement.

They trudged towards it through the snow, Valen in the lead. He had insisted on going ahead, and any devil that dared look at them too too long was met with glaring eyes and bared teeth. After one particularly intense staring contest with an erinyes, Ericka tried to lighten the mood. "You sure showed her."

The smile she was hoping for did not appear. "You are unused to planar travel, my lady," Valen said seriously. "And your appearance makes you exotic here. It is best that these devils do not think you easy prey for any…inappropriate action."

"Wait, this is about me?" She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Valen, I can take care of myself."

"I know that you can. I only…hope it does not come to that. I wish to prevent trouble before it begins."

Ericka pursed her lips, vaguely irritated but touched by the earnestness of Valen's expression. Deekin looked between them, eyes narrowed slightly with the look of one attempting to mentally solve a complex mathematical equation. Ericka noticed his thoughtfulness and carefully removed her hand from Valen's arm. He took the hint, and they continued walking.

The temple was not a large building, and its outward appearance was so ramshackle that the neat, almost elegant simplicity of the interior came as a surprise. As they entered, a lone githzerai male loitering at the front muttered something about how 'she' had 'even berks swallowing her swill'.

They were greeted by a female githzerai whose easy smile, at first, seemed to reflect the serenity of the Seer. But it was ever so slightly too wide, too fixed and bright. "More pilgrims, I see," she said cheerily, looking at each of them in turn for just a fraction of a second longer than was comfortable. "And an eclectic lot at that. I am Sensei Dharvana. What may I offer you?"

"Information, I hope," Ericka said.

"You seek knowledge of the Sleeping Man." The sensei's eyes almost literally glowed. "A worthy subject of emulation and contemplation." She didn't seem to blink often enough.

Ericka shrank from her, nonplussed. "Uh…how so?"

"He came here from the heights of Celestia itself for the greatest of causes, and here he waits, abiding until he knows the one for whom he waits."

"He's a celestial being?"

Dharvana nodded emphatically. "A planetar, to be precise."

"What cause has a planetar cooling his heels in a hell?" Ericka coughed. "If you'll pardon the pun." Deekin snickered into his notebook, and Valen rolled his eyes. The sensei didn't seem to even notice.

"True love, pilgrim. He waits here for his true love."

Ericka's eyebrows climbed a degree. "Oh. All right. Well…can I speak with him? I have reason to believe he can help me."

"Dear child," the githzerai smiled eerily, "he is not called the Sleeping Man for naught. He waits for her in slumber, as he has for centuries. He was thus when I found him, and built this place as a shrine to his great heart."

"If he's been asleep all this time, how do you know all this about him?"

"It is my gift to see glimpses of the past – memories and emotions." Her hand stole up to touch the amulet at her throat. "I had heard of the planetar who came willingly to a hell, so I sought him out, and when I found him, my gift showed me his tale." Her eyes glistened with tears. "He waits, and I will keep my vigil."

"So have you ever tried to wake him?"

The sensei stiffened. "Why would I do that? How would it be my place to interrupt his perfect plan? One day, he will wake and he will see-" She cut herself off. "No. I have not."

Ericka bit her lip, a suspicious notion stealing over her. She had a feeling she knew the answer to her next question, but she had to ask it regardless. "Do you think it's possible to?"

All traces of the gooey smile vanished from Dharvana's face. "That," she said coldly, "is sacrilege, and I will hear no more of it. You are no better than that degenerate Arden Swift. Begone! And do not return until you can show proper reverence."

The male githzerai was still outside when they exited, and his expression of ennui shifted to mild surprise when Ericka addressed him. "Excuse me. Do you know someone around here named Arden Swift?"

"The tiefling? What would you want with that rothe's ass?" Before she could answer, he held up a hand. "Not that I care. He's probably at the Hellsbreath getting drunk and telling lies about himself."

"A tiefling," Ericka repeated as they walked back towards the tavern. She glanced at Valen. "Like you?"

"Possibly, though it is more likely he is of diabolic descent. It's something of a catch-all term." He returned her gaze worriedly. "Just because he is part Prime does not mean he is worthy of any more trust than any one else here. Please be cautious."

"Valen…trust me, okay?"

"It is not _you_ I distrust."

They had not wasted much time on the tavern's common room the night before, dazed and bewildered as they had been, and what surprised Ericka about it now was that it might be the common of any mining camp watering hole. The only real difference seemed to be the number of horns, tails, and wings on the clientele. Even so, Swift was not hard to spot. The other patrons gave him a wide berth, a fact he blithely ignored. His age was indeterminate; it was hard drink and no shortage of debauchery that had lined his face. His ivory, ram-like horns were scarred with a dozen small chips, and he was dressed in a garish red tunic with screaming yellow trim. Valen sneered at the sight of him. "Oh look. A mime. We really are in hell."

Ericka managed to stifle her laughter after the first snort. "Behave yourself," she muttered.

"Must I?"

"For now." She shot him a cheeky smile. "You can misbehave later." He swallowed, an expression of nervous delight flickering across his face, and Deekin looked calculating again.

"Well, hello," Swift drawled, gazing up at Ericka with a broad lasciviousness. If he had even noticed Valen and Deekin, he gave no indication. "To what do I owe the honor?"

She folded her arms, tilting her hips slightly. Letting him look. "You're Arden Swift?"

"I am indeed, lovely lady. Please, have a seat."

She began to pull out the chair opposite him, and Valen caught her arm anxiously. She gave him a calm smile. "Easy, handsome," she murmured. She seated herself, resting her elbows on the table and fixing Swift with a cool gaze. "I understand you had a bit of trouble with Sensei Dharvana. Or would be more correct to say that she had trouble with you?"

He laughed. "So you sat through that silly gith bint's romantic clap-trap? No wonder you're here. Probably need a drink. And maybe…a little entertainment to take your mind off things."

Behind her, Valen inhaled furiously. Ericka's expression didn't change. "I can make my own entertainment, thanks. Funny how, when I mentioned waking the Sleeping Man, yours was the first name that seemed to come to mind. Why is that?"

"Why are you interested?"

"My question first."

Swift grinned. "I like you, pretty berk. You're feisty." He gave her another appraising once-over. "Bet you're a hellion 'tween the sheets, too."

A hand seemed to materialize on the back of his head; Valen reached across the table and slammed Swift face first into its rough surface. "Speak to her like that again," he snarled, "and it will be the last thing you say."

Ericka glanced up at him sidelong. "Let him speculate, Valen. It's not like he's ever going to find out."

Their eyes held for a silent five count, then Valen released Swift, who straightened, rubbing his face. "Got yourself a live one there, girl," he said.

She was still looking at Valen. "You have no idea." Her eyes returned to Swift. "You were telling me about the sensei?"

"Not much to tell," he said, peering at Valen cautiously. "I had, uh, run into a spot of trouble on Limbo and needed to be elsewhere. I'm sure you know how that goes. So I hitched a portal with that lot of pilgrims who were come to see what their kinswoman was up to in Cania. I guess they were all expecting something a lot grander, because as soon as she started carrying on about true love and all that bollocks, you could see the lights go out behind their eyes, one by one. Now they're stuck here until they can scrape together the scratch for a portal home."

"And what about you?"

"Me? I'm an old hand at finding a way out. Among other things." He winked at her, which earned him a redoubled glare from Valen.

"That isn't what I asked and you know it. Stop dodging the question."

Swift waved a hand. "I just floated the idea that it'd be funny to wake him up. But the githzerai don't have much a sense of humor in general, and that sensei is _especially_ humorless when it comes to her precious Sleeping Man." He snorted. "She's just trying to ignore the fact she ain't the one he's waiting for, 'cause if she was, he woulda woke up by now!"

"You noticed that too, huh?"

"Pretty hard to miss, if you ask me." Swift shrugged. "Now…maybe you'll answer _my_ question, pretty berk. What do you care about all this?"

Ericka looked at him for a moment, weighing her answer. "He may know something that can help me get back to the Prime Material," she said quietly.

Swift raised a shaggy eyebrow. "Got yourself a bit of trouble too, hmm?"

"Something like that."

He looked at her for a long time, and for the first time, she saw something other than boozy licentiousness. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and said, "I picked up a little toy on Pandemonium years ago – a trumpet that could make the most godsawful racket you've ever heard. Like the whole plane funneled through one piece of brass. When I said it'd be funny to try waking up the big lug, I was all set to do it…until Dharvana found out. Grabbed the thing out of my hands and locked it up in her office like I was a schoolboy bringing a dirty book to class! But you look like the type who knows how to get around a lock. And I, of course, can't be held responsible for what you chose to do with it if you were to…liberate it."

Ericka chewed on her lip, then nodded. "Of course not." She stood. "Thanks for the information."

"Not even going to stay for that drink?"

She shot him a half-smile. "Maybe another time."

They retired to the small alcove room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Dinner was quiet, and afterward, Ericka sat on the floor with Deekin, his notebook open her lap, reviewing what they had learned from Swift. Ostensibly, Valen was cleaning his armor, but every so often, Ericka would look up and see his eyes on her. She smiled at him, and he returned it tentatively. Eventually, Deekin yawned and climbed between his blankets, leaving Ericka to contemplate alone. After a silence of a quarter hour or so, Valen cleared his throat.

"Are you…at all chilled, my lady?"

"Actually, I-" His meaning suddenly sank in, and she had to stop herself from laughing. Six and a half feet tall, shoulders broad as a house, and it was all he could do to hint that he might want to cuddle. _Gods, how adorable_ , she thought. "You know, Valen," she said, "I _am_ a little cold."

He looked relieved, and sat down next to her. Since he had already made the first move, she thought to spare him any more embarrassment by being the one to do the embracing. She put her arms around him, and tucked her face against his neck. He was wonderfully warm, and smelled of steel and leather and earth. "Hi there," she murmured. His only reply was a small growl of pleasure deep in his throat, almost like a purr. The sound sent a shiver through her entirely unrelated to the cold, and she realized that if he kept making noises like that, she was going to be inspired to do things she should not be doing with a sleeping kobold four feet away. She shifted a bit and said lightly, "So…that business with Swift earlier. Trying to defend my honor?"

"I suppose so," he said softly.

"I told you, Valen…I can take care of myself."

"And as I told you, I know that you can. But…" He looked down at her, his eyes intent. Like they had been that night in front of the temple. "I would defend you from anything, my lady. For as long as you will allow me."

She swallowed. Saying things like that was not helping her resolve to behave herself. She still wasn't entirely sure what this change between them meant, but she did know that she liked it. She touched his face, and his eyes closed as her fingertips brushed his cheekbone. Sitting up a little straighter, she pressed her lips to his cheek, and murmured against his ear, "How does 'as long as you want to' sound?" He made his little purring growl again, and she had to pull back and force herself to count to ten. "If we get back to Toril-"

"When," he corrected. She looked down, biting her lip.

"You've got to admit, it's a pretty thin rope we've got right now. All we have is Swift the lecher and this trumpet that I'm going to have to steal, and we still don't know what the Sleeping Man can really do for us, even if we do manage to wake him up."

"Ericka." Valen touched her jaw, gently tilting her face upward. "Please do not despair. We will find a way to prevail."

"You're awfully optimistic," she chuckled dryly. "Especially for you."

"Not optimistic. Just determined." She raised her eyebrows questioningly, and just before he kissed her, he whispered, "I still want to see Waterdeep."


	14. The Sleeper Wakes

They returned to Dharvana's shrine in the morning with a very different purpose in mind than they had had the day before. Ericka was not impressed by her break-in options. "No windows. Just the one door." She exhaled irritably, her breath pluming in the cold air. "I'm going to see if there's any way in up on the roof. Give me a minute." She scrambled up the icy stones, hands and feet finding purchase in the smallest of cracks and protrusions as she hauled herself upward.

Valen and Deekin stood in nonchalant silence, pretending to have seen nothing, until Deekin said, "So you is kissing on Boss now." It was, in no way, a question.

Valen gaped at the kobold. "How did-" He cleared his throat. "I understand that you might see this as a complication, but-"

"Nah." Deekin waved his talons dismissively. "Is simple. You makes Boss happy, Deekin is happy. You makes Boss cry, you gets a bolt in the backside. See? Simple!"

Valen raised an eyebrow. "Apparently so."

There was a small puff of snow overhead, and Ericka leapt down from the eaves, landing in an annoyed crouch. "Nothing but a couple of pipe chimneys and one little air vent. No wonder it's so stuffy in there," she groused, brushing herself off. "Deeks, I think we're going to resort to an Aunt Sally." The kobold nodded.

Valen was utterly lost. "A what?"

"Basic ploy – Deekin goes in and distracts the sensei with a series of basic but complicated questions, culminating in a long, drawn-out story about his Aunt Sally. I sneak in, find the trumpet, and grab it."

"Then what?"

"Well, normally, I'd get out as quickly as possible, but in this case, since we're here, we may as well use it." She bit her lip, deep in thought. "Which is when it will get complicated, because at that point, there won't be any way to conceal our presence. If this trumpet works as advertised, half the camp will know when it's used."

"Perhaps at that point, a more direct approach would be advisable."

She nodded. "I think you're right. Be ready to subdue her when you hear the trumpet."

The first part of the plan went flawlessly. Valen waited just outside while Deekin peppered Dharvana with questions, all the while maneuvering so that, in order to face him, her back would have to be towards the door. Ericka passed her in complete silence. There were two doors beyond, and she chose the narrower, more recessed of them, imagining that the sensei would reserve the grander door for the place where the Sleeping Man lay.

The supposition was correct, and Ericka felt a stab of pity as she looked around the small space that doubled as office and living space. It was sparse and devoid of comforts. She knew that some, in seeking to better their spirits, forwent the pleasures of the body, but it seemed, looking at the barren little room, that the githzerai had no thought for herself at all. It was as if she only existed for the sake of someone who didn't even know she was there. Ericka shivered at the thought, forcing herself to look at the room through professional eyes. There couldn't be many places Dharvana would keep Swift's trumpet.

She found it in less than fifteen seconds of looking, the lone occupant of a locked desk drawer. It was a simple thing, a fluted piece of tin only a little longer than her forearm that was every bit as battered and disreputable in appearance as the one the sensei had confiscated it from. "Well, time for stage two," Ericka muttered to herself.

And then she felt it.

The sense that something wasn't right – that there had been movement, or lack of movement, that there had been sound, or none at all. She stood still as a deer for a half second, and then she heard the door open.

"What are you doing with that?" Dharvana asked, her voice deadly quiet. Ericka turned slowly and faced her, the beginnings of a dozen plans born and dead in a heartbeat. There was no point in glib distraction. A good thief always knew when there was no way to talk one's way out.

"I'm going to wake him up."

The sensei shook, though whether with fear or anger Ericka could not tell. "Why would you do that?" she whispered. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"I need his help. He doesn't do me any good asleep."

"How can you be so selfish?"

Ericka shrugged, never taking her eyes from Dharvana's. "Good at it, I guess. But what would I really be ruining by waking him up? Why is it so important that he stay asleep?"

"He must wake on his own…when he sees…" Dharvana's eyes shone with tears, and Ericka felt her skin crawl.

"What did you do with Deekin?"

The sensei sneered. "The pest annoyed me, so I dealt with him. As I will you!"

She threw herself at Ericka, and only a quick roll to the left prevented her open palm from striking the center of her chest. Ericka's shoulder vibrated with the blow, and her right hand suddenly didn't want to respond. It was a good thing she could fight with either one, she thought grimly as she drew the knife from her right bracer, slashing at Dharvana's torso. "Valen!" she shouted. Something had gone wrong and Aunt Sally had failed them. But if that bitch had hurt Deekin, she would get a lot worse than self-defense.

The outer door opened with a bang, and Ericka took advantage of Dharvana's instant of confusion to kick at her knee, but both the distraction and the pain ended sooner than she had anticipated, and she found the sensei's hands at her throat. She drove her knife into the githzerai's side, but the wound did not even seem to register. She turned sharply, using Dharvana's weight to throw her against the wall; the force of it jarred the knife's hilt, and she finally seemed to realize she was wounded. But her hands did not move from Ericka's neck.

Someone stood in the door, beyond the sensei's shoulder. Valen seized her, dragging her off Ericka and tossing her away. Her head caught the sharp corner of the desk and she crumpled to the floor, motionless in a spreading pool of blood. Ericka sank to her knees, rubbing her neck. "I did  _not_  want to have to do that," she said hoarsely. Her eyes widened. "Deekin…"

"Is unconscious," Valen said, kneeling beside her. He tilted her head gently to examine her throat. "She gave him quite the blow to the head." His lips tightened disapprovingly. "And without my even hearing it."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, handsome," Ericka wheezed. "She gave me a hell of a fight." He brushed her hair back from her face while she caught her breath. After a moment, she stood with his aid, not bothering to retrieve her knife.

Deekin lay on the floor in the main room, an obvious lump forming above his left eye. Ericka poured a few sips of a healing potion into his half-opened mouth, and his throat moved in a swallow. "Deekin?" She patted his cheek. "Deeks? Can you hear me?" The kobold's eyelids slowly rolled up.

"She hits Deekin," he muttered crossly. "Not nice."

"Not nice at all," Ericka agreed. He peered at her hazily.

"Boss got it?"

"Boss got it," she confirmed, showing him the trumpet. "Let's hope this Sleeping Man is worth it."

The grand carved door in the back of the center room opened to reveal a simple stone chamber, lit by four mage-light braziers. In the exact middle of the room was a raised octagonal dais with words carved into each side, and on it lay a winged man, his chest moving in the even breaths of deep sleep. Ericka slowly circled the Sleeping Man's stone bed. "'She will find you by the Gates of Cania,'" she read aloud. She tilted her head, gazing at the planetar. His skin was the soft green of new spring growth, and after days of nothing of the bitter cold monochrome of Cania, the color was almost unbearably beautiful. His calm face was handsome, in the way of classical statues, though her eye did not feel inclined to linger. She glanced over her shoulder at Valen, and smiled to herself.  _Guess I like my men with a little more character_ , she thought.

She was not sure what prompted the impulse, but she squatted down beside him, and gingerly touched his shoulder. The instant her fingers brushed his skin, a welter of images and sensations assailed her – the glacial cliffs of Cania, crouching under a strange violet sky, a flash of butterfly wings, and a voice saying, "I have told you the place, planetar." She felt a surge of heartrending loneliness, a desperation like nothing she had never known, but underlying the pain, there was a determination as fierce and boundless as an ocean. She gasped, and would have lost her balance and tumbled to the floor if not for a strong hand on her back.

Valen crouched beside her, and Deekin peered around him, both faces lit with concern. "My lady? What happened?" Valen touched her cheek with his calloused fingertips. "You are crying."

"Am I?" She wiped her face and let out a long breath. "Gods, that was…" She shook her head. "Suddenly, I understand the sensei a lot better. If she had half the psionic ability she claimed, and she felt all that… No wonder she was obsessed with him."

"How do you mean?" Valen's voice was cautious.

"He was so lonely, so he went looking…for her. For the One. He found out where he would meet her, but not when, so…he waited. Is waiting." She stood, Valen's hand still on her back. He seemed to have no intention to moving it. "You know, I do kind of hate to wake him up now." She straightened her shoulders and picked up the trumpet, which she had dropped in her trance. "Sorry," she said to the Sleeping Man, "but the Reaper thinks you can help me, and I need all the help I can get." She put the mouthpiece to her lips, and blew.

For a split second, just long enough for Ericka to fear she had done something wrong, there was no sound. Then a cacophonous roar issued from the small instrument, so loud it seemed to have physical form. It filled the chamber, a wall of noise that made the eardrums ache and buzz in protest. The Sleeping Man moved his head, as if reacting to something almost beyond the range of hearing. Ericka peeled the trumpet from her lips, head throbbing, and sat heavily on the floor by the dais, panting. Deekin carefully removed his fingers from his ear holes and Valen blinked hard, pressing the palm of his hand to his ear. The Sleeping Man murmured to himself, and turned his head, his eyes flickering open.

They were a pale gold, and seemed to glow faintly. They fixed on Ericka, and a look of vague disappointment crossed his face. "You aren't her," he said softly.

"No, I'm afraid I'm not. And I'm sorry I had to wake you like that."

The Sleeping Man sat up, facing her curiously. "What is this place? Am I still in Cania?"

"Oh, you are," Ericka replied, unable to keep the note of bitterness from her voice. "This is a shrine, built for you by a githzerai who…well, she was very inspired by you."

"A shrine? For  _me_?" He looked horrified.

"Yeah, she…was not stable. She's dead now."

"How sad." The Sleeping Man pursed his lips, genuine pity in his luminous eyes. He tilted his head, looking back at Ericka. "Why did you wake me?"

"Because I need your help." As briefly as she could, Ericka outlined the events that had brought them to Cania, the story of the relic, the Reaper, and the archdevil. The Sleeping Man listened with rapt attention, politely holding any commentary until she was done.

"Remarkable," he said. "I do not know this Reaper, and certainly not his True Name." A brickfall of misery was about to descend on Ericka's head when he continued, "But there is one who would." Hope thrust the defeat aside, and she could not help but lean forward in anticipation.

"There was a time before the devils here in Cania," the Sleeping Man said. "Many eons ago, the race of the Knowers dwelt here. To each was given the gods' own knowledge of one specific thing. But in time, the devils came, and the Knowers were scattered. I came here in search of them, and the aid they could give me. There were two left that I knew of, the Knower of Names, and the Knower of Places. I had to choose which to seek out to give me the knowledge I needed to find my love. After much deliberation, I decided that the Knower of Places would be my greatest help."

"Why?" Valen asked, looking confused.

"I realized that if I knew where I would meet my love, her name would be easily learned from that point. So I came here, to wait for her." He shrugged, a small, self-deprecating smile crossing his face. "You likely think that silly."

"No," Ericka murmured. "It's an act of faith. Faith that, by being at the right place at the right time, everything else will fall together." The Sleeping Man nodded, his smile gratified.

"Even so." He took a deep breath. "In your case, however, the Knower of Names has what you seek. I do not personally know where to find her, but her sister the Knower of Places will. And this ring will guide you to her." He held out his hand, a ring inlaid with gems and enamel resting on the palm. Ericka started; he hadn't been wearing a ring before. "The way through the glaciers is difficult, likely more so then when I passed this way years ago. And the Knowers all have their own rules for how and why they may dispense their knowledge, so do not be surprised by any request they make of you."

Ericka took the ring for him, turning it over in her fingers. "Thank you," she whispered. He smiled.

"You are welcome. I hope you are able to return to your home."

She closed her hand around the ring, feeling it dig into her skin. The rope remained thin, but this at least was something tangible. She looked back at the Sleeping Man. "I don't think you'll have to wait for her much longer."

His smile tightened. "I pray that you are right."

They took their leave, pausing to straighten the sensei's office and lay out her body.

They were all in a quiet frame of mind as they returned to the Hellsbreath, so Valen's pensive expression did not surprise her. But what did was him catching her hand before they entered their room, and pulling her towards a darkened corner. His head bowed, he stood with her for a several minutes, saying nothing. His presence seemed to fill the air, and she swallowed. Being so close to him was both comforting and electrifying. Finally, she had to break the silence. "Is something wrong, Valen?"

"I have been thinking about what you said earlier, and it has led me to a conclusion."

"What I said when?"

"What you said to the Sleeping Man. About being in the right place." He was looking very hard at her hand in his. "And I thought that…perhaps all those years I spent in search of the Seer…perhaps it was so I would be in the right place, at the right time…to meet you."

Her heart pounded; surely he could hear it over her silence. It all clicked into place then, every event of her life, every choice made, every road not taken, winding along to bring her here, to the man who stood in front of her. So fearless in battle, yet sometimes too shy to look at her, so strong that he laid waste to his enemies, yet so gentle with her sometimes it seemed he feared that strength. He was complicated, sharp-witted, and surprisingly sweet, with a sense of humor as dry as a desert and the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. And as that click occurred, she realized she didn't have much room for bitterness, if all the bad could lead to something good. "Maybe so," she said quietly. "I guess I wasn't just talking about him, was I?"

Valen looked up at her, eyes bright. "I had thought that being in the Seer's service, and…regaining myself, was the greatest thing I could aspire to. But now, seeing my life from this perspective, I realize it was all only the beginning. There is something more, something greater within my reach."

Ericka nodded, never taking her eyes from his. "I know exactly what you mean."

"You do?" He tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes ablaze, and worked his jaw for a moment, wrestling with the words. "My lady…Ericka…I- I love you."

She couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter. How wonderful to have a name for the singing in her heart. "I love you, too," she whispered.

He looked as if he were having difficulty breathing as well. "Truly?"

A part of her wanted to laugh at him, that he of all people would be surprised to hear that someone loved him. But instead, she freed her hand from his, and reached up to take his face between both, smiling. "Oh, Valen. You are the best thing to happen to me in a very long time. Quite possibly the best thing ever." He smiled back at her contentedly, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers.

"And you are more than I ever could have hoped for," he murmured. She closed her eyes, sliding her hands down his arms to catch his fingers in hers. They stood together, fingers entwined, breathing as one, until he said, "You said it was an act of faith, what the Sleeping Man has done. I have never had much faith in my life. But I do in you." He drew back just far enough to look her in the eye. "You have my heart, my la…my love."

If he hadn't been so good with that flail of his, she would have truly thought he'd missed his calling as a bard. "A warrior with a poet's soul," she said softly, then smiled saucily. "And a very nice tail."

"You are impossible," he said, shaking his head

"But you put up with me anyway, right?"

"No." His face had grown surprisingly somber. "It is the reason I love you." She raised a curious eyebrow and he said, "I fell in love once before – she was a mortal servant of Grimash't, and I knew from the moment I met her that I could not have her. And I told myself that that was what love was. An ache that could never be eased. But then I met you, and…you make me glad."

"I told you I like your smile," she whispered.

"And I like that it comes so easily when I am with you."

They said nothing more after that, and so they stood, hands clasped, oblivious to any eyes but each other's. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and she closed her eyes contentedly. For a little while, time was meaningless, and they could simply be.


	15. Everything in Its Place

"Let it go, Deeks," Ericka groaned, pulling her shirt back over her head. The kobold chortled helplessly.

"But Boss is so _pink_!"

"Humans come in all kinds of colors," she snapped, snatching her chain shirt from Valen's silent grasp. He still wasn't looking at her. She fumed.

It wasn't really anyone's fault. The Sleeping Man's ring had led them to a passage through the glaciers, and for the first half hour or so, they had been grateful to be out of the biting wind. But then they had found the mimic. Or, more honestly, the mimic had found them. Ericka had been in the lead, and the thing had been on her before she could react. For an instant, there had been only disorienting darkness, then she'd found herself sprawled on the ground in nothing but her underwear.

Somehow, it had managed to pull off her armor, cloak, and pack, even her boots and socks, in the space of a few seconds. Then Deekin had laughed at her scaleless skin, and Valen had taken one horrified look at her and kept his eyes averted ever since.

 _That_ was what rankled, she thought as she kicked the mimic's remains with a freshly shod foot. Satisfied that her chain shirt was settled, she began to buckle her leather jerkin back on, sneaking narrow looks at Valen as she did. Couldn't he have ogled at least a little? Granted, she was dirty and freezing, so it was hardly her best showing, but…nothing at all? His first chance to see her undressed, and he wouldn't even look at her? Did he not want to? Had the sight reminded him of their differences? Was he having second thoughts?

She shook her head. This was not the time to be distracted. Much as it irked her, it would just have to wait until they were warmer and drier and had what they were looking for. But as she tightened her belt, adjusting the sheathes of her swords and daggers, she felt his eyes on her again. He shot her a hesitant, abashed smile, and she decided that maybe this _was_ the time to have this out. "Deekin, will you give us a moment?" She steered Valen a few steps away, and faced him, hands on her hips. "Okay, Valen. Is there a problem?"

"No," he said, perplexed. "Why would there be?"

"Because you-" She sighed and lowered her voice. "You barely looked at me."

That seemed to do little to assuage his confusion. "I…was trying to preserve your dignity. I did not feel it very appropriate to gape at you."

"Oh." She felt silly for being so insecure, and flashed him a quick smile. "So you don't think I'm a hideous monster?" His eyes widened.

"No, not at all!"

"Kidding, handsome." She held up a surrendering hand. "Just trying a little humor."

He chuckled with relief. "Of course. But in all seriousness, Ericka, you are very beautiful. I apologize if I have not made that clear enough to you." She smiled, flattered, as he leaned closer and murmured, "In my eyes, you are the most beautiful of women. And the most desirable."

Oh, he could keep talking like that _all day_. "Thank you," she whispered, but he wasn't finished.

"Since we…declared ourselves, I have been trying quite hard not to think about that fact. I have not wished to overstep."

She fixed him with an extremely frank look. "I am almost positive you can't."

"Perhaps not." His voice dropped to that soft growl that made her knees weak. "But you must admit, we have had little opportunity to act upon those feelings."

"True. There hasn't really been a good time or place." She smiled brightly. "But there will be. Or at least there had better be. Because now that you've gotten to see me in my underwear, I think it's only fair that you return the favor."

He flushed slightly, smiling back. "I hope I will not disappoint."

She lifted an eyebrow, letting her eyes travel over him blatantly. "Disappointment is the least of my worries." His blush deepened.

"The most beautiful, desirable, and wicked of women," he said softly, still smiling.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"Not at all," he breathed, inches from her lips. He blinked, and leaned back, his expression sheepish. "I am thinking about it again." She coughed, trying not to grin.

"Time and place," she said, and he nodded.

"Then perhaps we should continue."

* * *

When worn, the Sleeping Man's ring changed the world, in ways both subtle and obvious. Ericka thought about blaming its alteration of her perception for missing the mimic, but decided that would be a poor excuse. But while the ring was on her hand, everything was covered in a wash of violet. Colors seemed more deeply saturated, and the path ahead would pulsate with a sourceless light, marking their direction. Stranger still was the appearance of her companions. Deekin's scales took on a reddish hue, and he seemed almost to have dragon-like wings sprouting from his back, but every time she tried to focus on them, they disappeared.

Valen had not appeared much changed at first, but the longer they went on, the less true that became. As with Deekin, the changes were fleeting, and did not stand up to her scrutiny. But from the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow clinging to him, overlaying him like a tracing. His eyes glowed red instead of their usual blue, his horns were longer and more violently twisted than normal, and once or twice, she thought she saw fangs protruding past his lips The changes made her uneasy, not so much because she feared his wilder, darker appearance, but because he did not seem comfortable in the other skin. There was sadness in the shadow.

However bizarre the world in its light, the ring's direction was unerring. The glow pointed the way steadily deeper through the snowy wastes, and every time they were shown towards a cave or tunnel, they were happy to be again out the wind. The chill both numbed and stung, and stopping would be a death sentence.

When they emerged from the most recent passage back out under the luminous purple sky, they were greeted with a chorus of howls. Frost wolves burst upon them, fangs shining in the eerie light. Valen intercepted the first before it could launch itself at Ericka, crushing its skull with an almost casual blow. She rolled to the right, drawing her swords and flanking another quickly, aiming for its broad chest. To the rear, the crack of Deekin's crossbow was almost immediately followed by a yelp, cut short.

A fourth wolf flung itself at her, teeth bared for her throat, and she hit the snow hard in avoidance of the wicked claws. Valen roared, bringing his flail down sharply on the creature. With a snarl, he reversed his grip and did it again, battering the already broken body. Through the strange filter of the ring, his eyes shone blood red.

"Valen!" Ericka pulled herself to her feet. "It's dead!"

He took a long, deep breath. "So it is." He looked at her, his eyes blue again. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Are you?"

"Yes." It was technically true, then the ring-light shifted, and for a heartbeat, the shadow over him was a pall of misery. She wanted to say something, but couldn't find the proper words, so she settled for touching his cheek, and he leaned his face against her gloved hand as if it were the only real thing in all the planes.

"Deekin?" she asked, still looking at Valen. "You okay?"

"Deekin has been better," the kobold replied, then added philosophically, "But been worse, too."

"Which way now?" Valen straightened and shouldered his flail, all business once more.

Ericka looked about them, and jerked her head to the northwest. "That way." The path pulsated urgently. "I think we're close."

"Good. I will be very glad to be done with this."

They had not gone far – just a few paces down a twisting ice tunnel – when the light of settled around a door to their left, throbbing with almost painful brightness. Ericka looked very hard at the opposite wall, indicating the door with a thumb over her shoulder. "Through there," she said, squinting. Deekin and Valen exchanged a look.

"Um…Boss? Is a wall."

"What? No, believe me, there's a door."

"Perhaps to you, my lady," Valen said diplomatically.

"What do you me- Oh. Right!" She tugged the ring off her finger, and everything was ordinary again. The tunnel walls were smooth and blank for as far as she could see. "Well, I guess that's one way to make sure you're hard to find." She put the ring back on, shielding her eyes against the flaring light with one hand while touching the door with the other. "But there's definitely a door here." She gave the door a gentle shove and it swung inward silently. The surprise on Valen and Deekin's faces made her chuckle. "I guess you can see it now?" They both nodded.

They entered a huge domed room, the apex of its ceiling so far above them it was lost to the eye. But likely they would not have been able to see it even if it had been closer, because the air above their heads was filled with doors of every type and description, from the tiny plank door of a modest halfling house to the ornate stone-carved entrance of a storm giant keeps. Portals swirled between them, and in the pools of light, there were glimpses of distant planes, vistas so beautiful and terrible that they stole the breath. Valen's eyes were wide. "See a few places you recognize?" Ericka asked.

"And some I had hoped never to see again."

She touched his arm sympathetically, and over his shoulder, a plain wooden door creaked open, revealing a cozy wood-paneled sitting room with a pair of cushioned benches in front of an arched brick fireplace. Her throat tightened. Master Drogan's house.

"Tired of waiting, planetar?"

The voice, high-pitched, chipper, and ever so slightly smug, came from behind her, and Ericka whirled about, furious at having been taken off guard. But then she caught sight of the speaker and her anger melted into bemusement. The Knower of Places was tiny, smaller even than Deekin, and she hovered in the air before them on butterfly wings twice as large as she. Her small elfin face was lovely, and her huge eyes and wildly arched eyebrows gave her a look of perpetual astonishment. She cocked her head, eyeing Ericka with a bird's curiosity.

"I knew that you would be eventually," she said, unperturbed by their staring. If she even noticed it. "But I have told you the place and that is all I can say. You will meet her at the Gates, not here."

"I'm not the planetar," Ericka said, confused. The Knower of Places gave an irritated shake of her head.

"You wear his ring; who else could you be?"

"But I-" Ericka stopped herself, brow furrowed, then shrugged. She considered briefly taking off the ring, but realized her chances of getting an answer were better like this. "I'm here to ask a different question this time. I need to know where your sister the Knower of Names is."

The Knower of Places narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You said there was no point in knowing the True Name of your love. What has changed your mind?"

"That's…not the name I need."

The Knower gasped. "Scandalous! So even planetars may stray! Oh, do not go to my sister if that is your intent – her heart has been broken by the duplicitous before, you know."

Ericka scrunched her eyes closed and counted down from ten before replying, "I am trying to help someone go home. To do that, I have to free someone else from the service of an archdevil."

"Ooooooooooh." The Knower nodded perceptively. "And the use of a True Name can break any number of bonds. Far too many see only their potential to enslave. You would, of course, see the greater, more benevolent use. Just what I would expect from you."

"Right." The Knower was giving her whiplash. "So will you tell me where your sister is?"

"Of course! But you know my price, planetar – you must show me a place." She waved a minute hand towards the multitude of doors surrounding them. Ericka nodded, surveying them before choosing one a few feet to her right. It opened into a barren little room set under the eaves of a building at least four stories in height, to judge by the angle of the light filtered through the single, grimy window. There was no furniture, only a pallet with two lumpy pillows and an overturned crate under the window, on which sat a small blue-glazed vase. The Knower cocked her head again. "A sad place. And a strange one for you to choose, planetar." She shrugged, her wings flapping double time to keep up with the motion. "But no matter. It fulfills the bargain." She seized Ericka's right hand. "Your ring will show you the way to my sister." With that, she fluttered away without another look.

They made camp that night in a small side chamber of the tunnel. Deep as they were under the glacier, it was almost temperate, and they were able to build up a decent fire and have a warm meal. Ericka offered to take the first watch, but Valen only remained in his bedroll for ten minutes or so before he got up and came to sit beside her. Neither of them spoke for a while longer, until he asked quietly, "What was that room?"

She stared down the tunnel, her eyes unfocused. "It was where my mother and I lived in Westgate. It's where she died."

He didn't reply, but simply draped his arm across her shoulders, and kissed her temple. She sighed softly, grateful for his presence. "Some things are the same across the planes," he said finally. "The places where the desperate gather. It was a very familiar room."

She turned her head to look at him. "And look at us now."

"Long have been my wanderings/and weary are my steps/But worthy of all suffering/The touch of my lady's lips," he recited. She smiled then, and his heart warmed at the sight.

"Where's that from?" she asked, ruffling the end of his ponytail fondly.

"The couplet is from a longer cycle of poems by Kerigon the Crimson. I have long found much to identify with in his works."

"Never heard of him."

"He's quite famous in Sigil." He took her hand, and fixed his earnest blue eyes on her. "Would you go there with me, one day? It is no longer my home, but I would…like to share it with you nonetheless."

"I'd love to." She squeezed his hand, and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'd go anywhere with you."


	16. In the Blood

It was getting worse.

With each step deeper in to the wastes of Cania, Valen could feel his control slipping. The demon, perverse gift of his unknown father, strained against the bounds he'd so carefully placed around it for so long, at once begging and demanding to be freed. It howled inside his head, the volume of its cries increasing with every passing moment to the point it seemed it would drown out the world.

Perhaps it was simply the passage of time and longer exposure to the hell that made it harder to ignore the fiend. Or perhaps it had been the proximity of the Sleeping Man, and the aura of peace he exuded that helped him feel still like himself while in the City of Lost Souls. But ultimately the reason was unimportant – all he knew was that he could feel himself sliding back into the black tar of mindless rage that had consumed so much of his life. And the shores of sanity between him and it were shrinking.

He glanced at Ericka, huddled beside the small fire they had built in the lean-to of stone they had taken sheltered in. She was half-frozen and exhausted, and the sensory overload of wearing the Sleeping Man's ring was obviously taking its toll. In the two days since they had left the Knower of Places, they had hardly spoken; they were all striving just to survive, and he knew the cold was even worse for her and Deekin than it was for him. So he kept his distance from the fire, letting them soak in its warmth and worked on his breathing exercises. They seemed woefully inadequate, a paper bulwark against an avalanche, but it was not in his nature to leave a weapon unused, and it was all he had. The thought of losing himself again was too terrifying to contemplate.

And what would she think of him then?

She had burst into his life without warning, quick and dauntless and laughing, and her presence had brought light and heat to a heart that had not even known it was dark and cold. He wanted to carry what they had found there in Cania away from the hell; he wanted to sit with her beside him under a real night sky, look into her shining eyes and kiss her soft lips in a place where the wind did not have claws. But that dream could only be if the monster could be kept at bay. She had called him a good man. He wanted desperately not to give her reason to doubt that.

* * *

There were trolls over the next ridge, twisted, hulking creatures with dead white skin and black sharks' eyes. Ericka took the shaman bedecked in bone totems, hamstringing him in one vicious stroke, and Valen's heart sang at the sight of blood on the snow. For a moment, he tried to remember his mantra, but then the troll warriors bore down on him, and there was nothing but blood and bone and death.

Three of them rushed him, and he vaguely felt something brush his left arm when the first swung his stone club. It was nothing, a minor bruise at worst, and he caved in the beast's ribcage for its trouble. He turned on the next, blocking a crude swing and forcing the club up. A hard kick at the troll's knee caught it off balance, and he smashed it into the snow. He looked for the remaining troll, growling eagerly, but it crumpled before his eyes, a slender, dark-haired human withdrawing her sword from its chest. An indignant snarl hovered in his throat before a voice within shouted _No_. He knew her.

It didn't matter, countered the demon. That was _his_ kill.

_NO_ , repeated the other voice. It was Ericka, she of the sly smile and soulful kiss. He loved her.

She was looking at him, eyes cautious, and she hadn't lowered her swords. "Valen. Something is wrong."

The adrenaline was wearing off, and his legs felt unsteady. He swayed slightly, and wondered why his arm hurt so badly. "My lady, I-"

"Your arm, Valen." The sudden tremor in her voice cut through him more sharply than the wind ever could. He glanced at his arm and swallowed at the sight of his deeply dented armor. He tried to flex his fingers, and agony raced up his arm like lightning.

Worse than the pain was the look on Ericka's face. It was the steady, measuring gaze of one gauging a threat. But behind it was fear, and something in his chest constricted horribly. "Something is wrong," she said again. "What is it?"

He was suddenly so tired. He wanted to sink to his knees and let the snow cover him. "It is the demon," he said tiredly. "The…taint in my blood. It is becoming harder to control." He dropped his eyes, unable to look at her. "It is…mindless and angry, and it wants to destroy every devil on this plane." He wiped at his forehead with his good hand. It was shaking. "Ericka, sooner or later, I won't be able to contain it. And if I lose control, I could cost you a victory. Or..." He swallowed painfully at the thought. "Or hurt you myself. It is imperative that you reach the Knower of Names. Perhaps…it would be best for you to leave me behind, before I prevent you from doing so."

Her silence stretched, and he found he could not read her expression. She wiped her swords and sheathed them, never taking her eyes from him. "Don't be ridiculous," she whispered. "I am not leaving you here." She stepped close, and began to unbuckle his dented armpiece, cursing softly as her numb fingers fumbled with the straps. "Deeks, get me a potion. One of the good ones from White Thesta. Doesn't look broken, but it's still bad."

Valen stared down at her. "Ericka, I do not think you realize the gravity of what I have said."

"You say being here is making it worse. Then the best thing to do is to get us all out of here as soon as possible." Deekin handed her a potion, which she shoved into his good hand. Her gaze was firm, the fear gone. "You said you'd defend me from anything, and I will do the same thing for you. Even if it's defending you from yourself. Now drink that."

He drained the bottle, never looking away from her. He winced at the tingle of blood flow returning to the bruised tissue, but it no longer hurt to move his hand. "I don't understand."

"I love you," she said, shrugging almost shyly. "And I think the longer I know you, the more in love with you I'm going to be. So maybe I'm being selfish, but I really don't want to miss that chance." She dropped her voice, eyes growing wet despite the terrible cold. "Please, Valen. Keep fighting it. You're strong – I know you can." She flashed him a small, teary smile. "You still owe me some star-grazing."

He dug into the belt pouch nearest his flail book, withdrawing a soft bit of fabric. Carefully, he dabbed her cheeks dry, then bent his head to kiss her.

It took no longer than the touch of her lips to his for the kiss to take on a life its own. And it was not the sort of kiss poets wrote about. It was fevered and passionate, yes, but her nose was running from the cold, his lips were chapped, and their desperation made them clumsy, teeth clicking against each other and hands too hungry to stay in one place long. He pulled her tight against him, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if he should be gentler, considering his armor, but her moan was definitely not one of protest.

Deekin tried clearing his throat, but they didn't (or couldn't) hear him, but after several attempts, he finally got through. "AHEM." They broke apart, sheepish and winded, and the kobold eyed them critically. "If you gots to get grabby, wait until we's somewhere warmer, please?"

Ericka cleared her throat, and wiped her lips. "Right. Sorry about that, Deeks."

Before she stepped clear of his arms, Valen murmured in her ear, "Thank you, my love." She smiled at him.

"You'd do the same for me."

The truth of that statement struck him sharply. "I would. I would storm each and every hell of the nine for you, regardless of the cost."

"Then what makes you think I wouldn't?"

"I-" Shame welled up within him – he had asked her to do something he would have refused to even consider if the roles had been reversed. He shook his head, feeling a fool. "I do not know. I only hope you can forgive my doubt."

"I know it's hard. I can't imagine what it must be like to fight your own instincts. But I know you can, Valen."

He nodded, gripping her hand and letting the reality of her presence sink in and through him. _I will not be ruled by you_ , he told the fiend. _You are nothing to me, and she is everything._

The long, sloping hill had blocked the wind as they trudged up its height, so reaching the top left them back at its mercy. But the wind brought more than ice as they crested its summit – it carried the sounds of steel and shouting, screams of agony and rage, and the smell of warm blood. Valen sucked in a breath at the tableau of warfare spread out before them. "Tanar'ri," he breathed. "And bebelith. Those are demons. We must be near the borders of Cania. That is…"

"The Blood War," Ericka whispered, staring down at the tiny figures tearing at one another. Even from that distance, the hatred radiating from them was palpable. She glanced at Valen, whose teeth were gritted. His nostrils flared in time to his very deep, deliberate breathing. _That was his life_ , she thought. _My gods._ "You okay, handsome?" He tore his eyes from the battle below, nodding quickly and taking her hand in his. It hurt, but he needed the contact, so she squeezed back just as hard.

"I will be all right."

"Stay with me, okay?"

His eyes shone fiercely. "Nothing will part me from you. I will be by your side until the very end, whatever that may be. I swear it."

She took a deep, shaky breath. "Gonna hold you to that," she said, trying for a smile.

The corner of his mouth moved slightly upward, then he turned his eyes back to the valley. "She is down there, isn't she?"

Ericka nodded. "I can't tell exactly where yet, but yeah. She is." Valen straightened his shoulders.

"Then we will find her. And when we have learned what she has to tell us, we will leave this place. Together."


	17. Truth Shall Make You Free

They wove and dodged their way down into the valley, doing their best to avoid engaging any of the combatants as Ericka followed the ring's path. She glanced at Valen, whose lips were tight and whose tail lashed. She didn't want to make this any harder on him than it already was. Fortunately, the demons and devils were mostly too preoccupied with each other to bother with the mortals, and they only had to defend themselves a half dozen times before the ring led them away from the battlefield, down a narrow gorge that seemed to come to a dead end.

A crystal jutted strangely from the ice, a glow emanating from deep within its dark, clouded heart. Ericka's eyes were drawn to it and its steady pulse of light, and her right hand outstretched towards it. From far away, she heard Deekin's voice.

"Boss? Whatcha lookin' at?"

"I believe it is something only she can see," Valen said. "My love?" She felt him touch her arm, but she was too entranced to look away. Slowly, she laid her hand palm flat against the crystal. There was a click as the Sleeping Man's ring touched it.

The vision was immediate.

She saw a woman, pale and beautiful as the snow, and beside her there was a man, whose eyes lied and whose smile deceived. But she did not know that until too late, until she had told him everything he needed to know, until he had used her knowledge to enslave and destroy. Then he had been a monster, with no need to lie, reveling cruelly in the truth of who and what he was. And he had laughed as the ice closed around her, and she wept, but it was too cold for tears.

The vision shifted, and Ericka saw through her own eyes. She saw the monster, Mephistopheles, laughing over the Valsharess's crumpled body, and her own. She saw him stride away, through the gates and out into the Underdark. Twisting passage and wide cavern alike he traveled, and in his wake followed an army of the damned. And as they ascended, she recognized his path, and knew his destination. The surface, and Waterdeep.

Suddenly, she was back in her body, the images still burning in her mind. She tried to turn, but found she was huddled in the snow, her legs having given out on her at some point she could not name. Valen knelt beside her. "Ericka," he said softly. "What happened?"

She stared at him for a long moment, head still buzzing. The demon's shadow hung over him, and the ring showed her the pain etched in his face as he kept it at bay, like holding back a fire with his bare hands. And yet, he was looking at _her_ with concern, his pale blue eyes focused on her with an intensity that would shame an elvish marksman. "You have the most beautiful eyes," she murmured. He opened his mouth and closed it again, and she smiled crookedly at him. It was so cute when he didn't know what to say. Then the images rushed back, and she shook her head. "I saw her, Valen. The Knower of Names. And I saw Mephistopheles. He's on his way to the surface."

He inhaled sharply. "How long do we have?"

"Not long. And Waterdeep's been fighting the Valsharess's drow for weeks. They're tired, and over-extended. If we don't warn them, they'll fall in a day. But it's alright. I know where the Knower is." She laid her hand on the crystal once more. "She's right here."

It shattered.

There stood the woman from the vision, cold and fair, her dove's wings folded at her back. Her eyes were silver, and she regarded the regarded the three of them with neither surprise or fear. "You are Kagita'ar the Heartseeker," she said, then quickly held up a hand. "Fear not. It is the nature of my Knowing that I cannot speak your True Name with power." Her eyes widened suddenly, and the expression was so ordinary and human that Ericka almost laughed. "I hope I have not erred in speaking your Name before your companions, hellwalker. Forgive me if I-"

"No need to worry," Ericka said, smiling to calm her distress. "I trust them."

"And I likewise trust her," Valen said firmly. "You may speak my True Name without compunction; I do not fear it."

"Deekin doesn't mind," the kobold added with a shrug. Ericka smiled at them both, touched.

The Knower looked relieved, and said, "You have freed me. You have my thanks. And in accordance with my gift, I may offer you two answers to three questions."

"Well, fortunately, I only have two questions."

The Knower's beautiful face grew still. "Then ask them."

"The one I call the Reaper – what is his True Name?"

"To the gods, his name is Hecugoth the Abandoned," the Knower replied immediately. Her head tilted. "Do you seek to free him?"

"I can't leave Cania until I've broken Mephistopheles's hold over him. And nobody deserves what Mephistopheles has done to him anyway. Which leads me to my other question." She took a deep breath. "What is the True Name of Mephistopheles of Cania?"

The Knower's eyes fell, and her smooth brow furrowed with a deep line of unhappiness. "I am sorry, hellwalker," she said miserably. "Your friend the Reaper is not the only one Mephistopheles bound to his will. I cannot tell you."

Valen sighed and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "It was worth a try, my love." But Ericka's eyes narrowed in calculation. She thought of the vision she had seen, and how the archdevil had used the Knower for her gift, and how the limitations of that gift left her unable to use that knowledge in turn. _Dirty pool, Meph_ , she thought.

She fixed her gaze on the Knower. "What is _your_ True Name?" Valen and Deekin stared at her, but she never took her eyes from their focus. "You've only answered one of my questions so far. I think I'm entitled to another."

The Knower worked her mouth for a moment before finally saying, "I am Phyreshi the Knower."

"Phyreshi the Knower, tell me the True Name of Mephistopheles of Cania."

There was utter silence for a long moment. Then a tiny, almost vengeful smile of understanding pulled at the corner of the Knower's flawless lips. "Before the gods, he is known as Thra'axfyl the Ambitious," she said, silver eyes bright.

Ericka breathed an internal sigh of relief and bowed her head in thanks. "That's all I needed. I don't want any more hold over you than that. I can't thank you enough for it."

"You have given me my freedom. In more sense than once. And perhaps, you will see some punishment meted against the one who deceived and imprisoned me?" A hint of ferocity lurked in her voice.

"Considering what he did to me? To _us_?" Ericka smiled back savagely. "Oh yes."

The Knower nodded once; they understood each other. "You need not traverse the long waste back to the Gate of Cania. I can return you there in the winking of an eye."

"Oh please," Deekin begged. "Deekin's feets hurt!" The Knower smiled, but then grew somber again.

"There is one other boon I would grant, if you would tell me how," she said. "You have a weight on your heart, hellwalker. What knowledge would ease it?"

Ericka started, glancing sidelong at Valen. "I'm- I'm not really sure what can." The Knower looked between the two of them, head tilted, then leaned close to Ericka's ear, whispering three words. And quick as breathing, they were back in the City of Lost Souls, at the door to the Reaper's gatehouse.

Valen looked at Ericka, whose eyes were downcast. She was chewing on her lower lip in that way that he had come to learn indicated deep thought. She noticed his eyes on her, and returned the gaze with such intensity that he wondered what she was seeing with the ring, until he noticed her hand was bare. Perhaps the Sleeping Man's ring, knowing its use was at an end, had returned to its master. But that was a vague and distant curiosity, compared to the mystery of why Ericka was looking at him with that combination of determination and uncertainty in her eyes. "My love?" he prompted. "What did the Knower tell you to breed such confusion?"

She went back to chewing her lip. "She…she told me your True Name."

He blinked in surprise. "Ah. Well…as I said, I am not afraid that you will misuse that knowledge." He took her hands in his, trying to give her an encouraging smile. "You have earned my trust a thousand times over, Ericka."

She half-smiled back, but her lip was still subject to a fierce gnawing. "All the same, I-" She took a deep breath, and set her jaw. "You trust me?" He nodded in confusion, and she straightened her shoulders, looked him hard in the eye and addressed him. "Oeskathine the Demonwrestler."

His hands dropped hers, going at once stiff and slack. A charge of electricity, like touching an alchemist's apparatus, raced through him. She had him now, and her wishes were the only ones he could grant, his own desires so thoroughly sublimated they might as well not exist. She could ask anything, compel anything. She could tell him to cut his own throat, saw off his horns, debase himself in uncountable ways, and he would do it. But he trusted her, the tiny part of his mind that was still his own argued. She wouldn't ask anything of him he wouldn't grant her anyway. He knew she wouldn't. He said the only thing his vocal cords would allow. "What would you have of me, my lady?"

She reached up, and took his face between her hands. "I want you to be free," she whispered. "Free of the demon, free of the Blood War. Free to be the man you want to be."

For ten seconds, he felt the most extraordinary agony he had ever known in his life. From leagues and leagues away, he heard Ericka call out his name, but he couldn't be sure if her voice was real, or just imagined. Every joint in his body locked; he couldn't move or breathe or make a sound. His vision darkened, the world filtered dimly through a haze of pain that ticked sharply towards a crescendo. Any instant now, it would crash in upon him, more than he could bear, and he would simply collapse under it.

But then it was gone.

He stumbled, catching himself on the first upright object at hand. Which happened to be Ericka, who threw her whole shoulder to holding his weight. Her eyes were huge. "Valen? My gods, what did I do to you?"

"You-" He inhaled as deeply as he could, letting his lungs fill to their absolute capacity. Something felt different, and yet nothing was. Like probing at a missing tooth, he felt about within for what had changed and couldn't find it. And then it struck him. The noise in his head – the constant, maddening whisper of the fiend's voice – had disappeared. He had become so accustomed to it that it took him a moment to even realize he _wasn't_ hearing it. He peered at Ericka, who was still gamely helping him stand. "It's gone."

Hearing himself say the words aloud was like feeling a dam burst. He threw his arms around her, heedless of armor, temperature, or any other impediment, lifting her off her feet to gaze up at her in wonder and joy. She was grinning broadly, surprised but pleased, and the fact he was holding her three feet off the ground didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. And that was good, because he had no intention of letting her go now. "It's gone," he repeated.

"How do you feel?" she asked gently. He thought about it, breathing deep and acquainting himself with the newfound silence at the center of him.

"I've never felt better," he said, and realized that was likely the most honest use of those words he'd ever had in his life. "But the Knower said that something was weighing on your heart. _That_ was it?"

"You were in so much pain," she whispered. "It was breaking my heart to watch you suffer."

He stared up at her, at the lightning bolt of a woman who had changed everything. How could he have even begun to guess, seeing her for the first time in the Seer's temple, how completely she would reshape his life? He craned his neck to kiss her, intending something slow and soft, but she had other ideas. He felt his face heat as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and the hunger in her kiss persuaded his mind to quietly leave the room and let his body do as it pleased. But as the kiss deepened, they paid less attention to keeping their balance, and his tail could only compensate for so long. They crashed into a snowdrift, laughing.

Ericka looked up at Deekin, who was studiously writing in his notebook. "Sorry about that, Deeks. I really need to start behaving myself."

"Nope, is okay," Deekin replied, still jotting furiously. "Every epic's gotta have a romance."

She rolled her eyes, and Valen smiled, still catching his breath. "He has a point." He flicked a bit of snow from her hair. "And you are most definitely the sort of woman bards should write of."

She made a face at him, trying not to look flattered. She climbed to her feet, facing the Gate, and drew herself up. "Whatever happens when we get back to Toril-" she began. Valen took her hand.

"We will be together," he said. "And if we should fall, I will cross the planes again to find you. I cannot be kept from you now."

She smiled, and squeezed his hand. "Not if I find you first." She glanced at Deekin. "Ready, Deeks?"

The kobold finished a sentence and snapped his notebook shut, stowing it in his pack. "Deekin was hatched ready."


	18. Heroes' Reward

The world snapped into place around them, and Ericka staggered, catching herself with one hand on Valen's arm and the other on Deekin's shoulder. She was already looking around, even as she caught her breath, seeking out landmarks. There were shouts and screams in the air, steel on steel and worse, steel on flesh. Flames licked up to the east, and the wind carried a gust of sparks and smoke over the three travelers. "This looks bad, Boss," Deekin said, eyes wide, and Ericka nodded hard.

"Looks like Mephistopheles started without us." She jerked her chin towards the outline of a high, pitched roof that dwarfed those surrounding it. "There's the Yawning Portal. Durnan will know what's going on."

They dashed through the rubble-choked streets towards the distinctive roofline of the Yawning Portal Inn. There were creatures abroad, shades of drow and illithid, and other, stranger hellbeasts. Valen discovered that while the demon might be silenced, and the bone-deep _need_ to lay waste to every available devil had evaporated, it was still extremely satisfying to put them down and watch the survivors flee in terror. Ericka danced out of the path of a devil's claws, and shot him a quick grin. "How you feeling, handsome?"

She'd maneuvered the thing right into his path, and he returned the smile as the force of his blow detached its head from its body. "Like a new man."

Ahead, on the edge of the common the inn adjoined, Ericka spotted Durnan, strapped into well worn armor and wielding a heavy axe. "Durnan!" she shouted over the din. His head turned at the sound of his name, and his eyes widened.

"Ericka? Where the hells have you been, woman?"

"Let me get a few beers in you and you might believe me." She jogged up beside the adventurer turned innkeep, and he subjected her companions to an assessing glance.

"Deekin. You're looking…bardic as ever." Deekin preened at the compliment, and Durnan eyed Valen in the careful manner of one sizing up whether the other was a colleague, threat, or both. "You're a big one," he said neutrally, then gestured towards Valen's horns. "Come by those naturally?"

"As naturally as you have yours," Valen replied, just as blandly. Durnan barked a laugh and held out a hand, which Valen accepted with a faint smile.

"Durnan, Valen. Valen, Durnan," Ericka said hurriedly. "The full story'll have to wait for those beers. What's our situation here?"

"Terrible," Duran said, his smile fading. "Damn devil wrecked my inn, Ericka!"

"Where is he now?"

Durnan pointed towards the inn proper. "We got him pinned out in the common, but that won't last. It's only a matter of time before he breaks through."

Ericka nodded thoughtfully, then glanced at Deekin and Valen. "You don't have to come with me, you know." Deekin snorted derisively, and Valen raised an eyebrow.

"We have come too far for that now," he said, and lowered his voice. " _Much_ too far." She met his eyes, and in them, she could see the road that had brought them there; from the Seer's temple, through the Underdark and the snows of Cania, to where they stood. She nodded again, and smiled.

"I keep trying to give you guys an out and you just won't take it." She looked at Durnan. "Keep us covered. Hopefully, this'll be over quick."

"And what exactly do you intend to do, girlie?" he asked suspiciously. She beamed at him.

"Something spectacular." With that, she turned and raced for the center of the common, and the archdevil.

Mephistopheles stood before the front of the Yawning Portal, casual as a marketday loiterer, even as he was peppered with arrows and crossbow bolts from behind the Waterdhavian defenses. His bat-like wings flexed with boredom, but as Ericka and her companions emerged from the barricades, his horned head tilted, and his red eyes narrowed. "I remember you," he rumbled. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

"Didn't take." Ericka glared up at the devil, her mouth hard. She could feel his will, rippling like a wave over her. He was strong enough, old enough, powerful enough, that he could compel a mortal almost as well as if he possessed their True Name, but not quite. And he knew. Knew that her presence back in the Prime Material meant that she freed the Reaper and how she must have done it. He wasn't stupid. His tail swept over the broken cobbles, his eyes calculating.

"So you have what you wanted. But what of those you drag along in your wake, deathdealer?"

Valen's voice was scornful. "Do you think you have anything you can offer us, baatezu? That there is anything you have that we would want? Be silent, or learn your folly with pain."

"Oh my," Mephistopheles cooed. "Your half-breed is quite spirited, little thief. Perhaps I should break him before I kill you again, to teach you both a lesson in pride." Ericka sucked in an enraged breath, but before she could speak, the devil lord had turned his gaze to Deekin. "But you are not so full of conceit, are you? You know the proper place of a singer of songs and teller of tales is at the foot of the great. And there are none greater than I. Imagine the stories you could tell in my service." His will reached out again, caressing this time, and Deekin looked at Ericka, confusion in his eyes.

"Boss?"

"Deeks…you're my friend, not my servant. You can do whatever you want." The confusion began to ebb away, and she added, more softly, "But if you did go…I'd miss you."

_That_ cemented it. Deekin crossed his arms, looked back at Mephistopheles, and extended his long tongue from his snout, blowing a profound and melodic raspberry in the archdevil's direction. Mephistopheles sneered.

"How eloquent. Well then, I suppose we shall be forced to do this the old-fashioned way." His wings beat again, stirring the dust and soot around him, and Ericka squared her shoulders. It was time for her ace.

"Yeah, we will, actually. We'll have to do it the way you did back in Cania." Mephistopheles stiffened, suddenly wary, and Ericka shook her head. "Oh, Meph…you really should do better by your old girlfriends. Break a woman's heart and imprison her in an ice coffin, and she's apt to tell just about anyone all your secrets the first chance she gets."

"You cannot possibly know," the devil whispered. "She was bound by her True Name!"

"Turns out there's a loophole." Ericka let her lips curl as she spoke the Name. "Thra'axfyl the Ambitious."

The change in Mephistopheles's demeanor was instant. He froze, throat and jaw trembling. "Wh…what would you have of me?" He forced the words out between clenched teeth.

"Go back to Cania, and rot there. Because you're never leaving that plane again, not even to hop across the Styx to Nessus to borrow a cup of sugar. And I'd watch my step once you're home, if I were you. They seem to have been doing just fine without you, and they probably won't take too kindly to you trying to tell them what to do anymore. And then there's the fact that the Knower of Names couldn't hate you more if she tried, and it's well within her power to make your life _very_ uncomfortable, so…just keep that in mind."

Mephistopheles shook, his entire body vibrating with fury he could not voice. "What else?" he hissed.

"Oh, I think that will do nicely." She crooked her fingers at him in a one handed wave. "Bye now."

Later, she realized she probably should have been more specific in the method of his departure. As it was, the air around him seemed to contract for a few hideous seconds, and then he vanished with a roar of pure rage, a shockwave exploding outward from the spot he had stood. It carried Ericka from her feet, slamming her backwards into the nearest Waterdhavian barricade, where something punched her, very hard, in the lower back. She heard someone, or several someones, shout her name, and then she didn't hear anything.

* * *

"Ah, there she is."

The voice was female, warm and rich as fine velvet. Ericka heard someone groan softly, and realized it was herself. She forced her eyes open, and they focused on the beautiful smiling face of Durnan's friend, the Sunite priestess White Thesta. "Can you sit up, love?"

"…think so." With White Thesta's help, she achieved a semi-vertical position, and looked around. They were indoors, in the Yawning Portal well room, where pallets had been laid out for the wounded. "Where's-"

"Deekin wasn't hurt – just a few scratches and bruises. He's up and about, taking down people's stories, I'd imagine. Bless his chronicler's heart." Ericka nodded, and White Thesta's smile grew conspiratorial. "As for your handsome friend, he's over there." She nodded towards the opposite side of the room, where Valen stood, talking quietly with Durnan. "He's quite all right, as you can see. Mightily bruised from his encounter with a stone wall, but nothing was broken. He certainly had nothing on you. I had to pull this out of your left kidney." The priestess brandished a piece of wood that looked like a broken chair leg and Ericka's stomach turned.

"No wonder my back hurts."

"Indeed. But you'll mend well. And it's all worth it in the end, because I got to get your tiefling out of his shirt, and I must say…well done, dear. He's quite a find."

Ericka stuck out her tongue. "You'd better behave yourself." White Thesta laughed.

"Never fear, my dearest. He may as well have your name stamped across his forehead. Sune's hand is on his heart, and it is yours." Ericka felt her face heat, and the priestess laughed again as she helped her stand.

Durnan's head turned as White Thesta hailed him, as did Valen's, but his eyes were only for Ericka. He wrapped his arms around her with a sigh, his relief at seeing her conscious palpable. He stepped back, touching her face softly. "You are all right," he said, then cast a dark, accusing look at White Thesta. "She wouldn't let me stay with you."

"You're a darling boy," White Thesta said, completely unruffled, "but you were in the way." Valen glowered, and put his arm over Ericka's shoulders, holding her against his side as if afraid she might be pulled away again.

"How are you feeling?" Durnan asked. Ericka thought about that.

"Like a hot bath and a real bed would be the best things in the world."

He chuckled. "Lucky for you, I specialize in just that. I've kept the room you were in before open for you. You should head on up, if you've a mind."

"I will go with you," Valen declared, obviously determined to keep his arm where it was. White Thesta caught Ericka's eye and gave her an encouraging grin.

Ericka and Valen slowly ascended the two flights of stairs, leaning on each other. When they reached the door, he hovered for a moment, taking her hands in his nervously. "I…suppose I will leave you to your rest, my love." He did not look like he really wanted to go anywhere, but he obviously couldn't articulate what he truly wanted to say.

He was leaning in to kiss her forehead when she said, "You could always join me." He stopped, his lips an inch or so from her face, his cheeks slowly coloring.

"You…you would want me to?"

She nodded, and opened the door, smiling as she pulled him in after her. A bath had already been drawn in the big copper tub in the corner, steam rising off the water invitingly. She released his hand and began to tug off her boots, staring at the bath with longing. Valen politely turned his back and she rolled her eyes. "You've already seen me in my underwear," she pointed out.

"I have," he replied, back still turned. "But this is different."

"Yeah, it is." She pulled her shirt over her head and set it aside, then bodily turned him around to face her again. "It's better."

He swallowed, his eyes traveling slowly downward as she pointedly removed her trousers. "So it is," he murmured. "I believe I owed you a similar state of undress."

"You did at that," she replied. She slipped out of her underwear and into the hot water, mindful of his gaze. He swallowed again, and slowly undressed, never taking his eyes off her. Naked, he stared at her with a strangely proud shyness, and she smiled at him, trying to keep her admiration at a simmer. Handsome with his clothes on, amazing with them off. "Definitely not disappointed," she said. He flushed, and she realized she should probably have mercy. "This is an awfully big tub. It's kind of lonely over here."

He slid into the bath with her, unsure of how exactly to arrange his limbs. She decided to make it easier on him by curling against his side, resting her head on his bare chest. He tensed, his breathing short. "It is very difficult to relax with you so near, my love." But before she could move, he had his arm around her. "But that does not mean I wish you not to be."

They said nothing more, soaking together in silence. The days and weeks of stress slowly slipped away, evaporating with the steam, and Ericka felt her eyelids begin to droop. In an effort to keep herself from dozing, she traced the numerous small scars on Valen's chest with a fingertip. Most of them were just thin white lines, either small wounds or the work of healers. She had more than enough just like them herself. She put her arm around him, her hand moving up his back, but the change in skin texture stopped her. Straightening, she pulled away, turned him slightly, and gasped.

They were mostly healed, flattened now instead of the raised welts they must have been. That was probably the Seer's doing. But Ericka recognized the pattern of the scars on his back and shoulders nevertheless. Whip marks. Her vision blurred with a sudden haze of tears she couldn't explain. Valen shifted, facing her again with a gentle look in his eyes. "They are of no consequence, Ericka," he said softly. "I was a slave. But I am free now." She nodded, trying to swallow away the tightness in her throat. She buried her face against the side of his neck, his arms tightened around her, and something in the air changed. He turned his head, and their lips met. Decorum only lasted for another three seconds.

His hands ran down her sides, and her tongue parted his lips. It suddenly felt impossible to be close enough, to kiss deeply enough. Shaking with desire, she moved to be atop him, sending a wave of water out of the tub, and the sound of the splash brought them momentarily back to reality. "A venue change's in order, I think," she panted, and he nodded his ardent agreement.

He stood, his arms still around her, carrying her out of the water to the bed. Drying seemed like a waste of time – nothing was more important than finishing what they had begun. He tried to lay her down gently, but she pulled him along with her, unwilling to allow even a few inches of separation. She needed to feel his skin against hers; he needed to hear her whispering his name. They were sore and exhausted, but it didn't matter. Bruises could heal and sleep could wait. This was their time and place, and they were determined to make the most of it.

With a final shudder of release, they lay together, catching their breath in wonder. "That was worth the wait," Ericka murmured. Valen, his head tucked against her throat, gave a soft, reverberating growl of approving agreement; she smiled and nudged her cheek against the horn nearest it.

Ten minutes later, they were both sound asleep.


	19. Daylight

Ericka stirred, wondering why it was so bright. And then it occurred to her that it had been weeks since the last time she had seen real daylight, and the thought made her want to throw open the curtains and luxuriate in the sunshine. Two things stopped her. The first was that she was naked, and did not particularly feel sharing that fact with anyone who happened to be passing by. The second (which was actually quite related to the first, now that she thought about it) was that there was a tiefling sleeping on her.

Not directly on her, of course. Valen lay on his stomach, his head turned towards her and his arm draped over her. Which meant it would require some careful maneuvering to disentangle herself without waking him, and her heart really wasn't in that. So she lay still, taking the opportunity to study his sleeping face. He was pale, and very faintly freckled (oh, the noonday sun was going to be cruel to him); she could see a blue vein in his throat pulse with his heartbeat. The morning light picked out the copper in his hair and shone on his horns. He looked so calm and untroubled, and the sight sent a warm rush of happiness through every nerve. He was strong and fearless, a warrior to the very core, and anyone who met him would know that in an instant. But she wondered if anyone had ever gotten to see _this_ Valen, and she felt privileged that she could.

He sighed in his sleep, and shifted slightly, and she realized that she should get up now while she could. She rolled out of bed, grabbing the robe that had been helpfully laid on a nearby chair. No sooner had she belted it closed than there was a light rap at the door. It was Tamsil, Durnan's daughter and commander general of the chambermaids. "Hi," she enthused, trying unsubtly to peer past Ericka towards the bed. "So, I'm here about breakfast…you'll be needing it for two, right?"

Ericka sighed and chuckled. "Breakfast would be great, Tamsil, and yes. I'm sure Valen will want to eat too."

The girl's eyes sparkled. "Okay. I'll be back soon." She hovered in the doorway for a moment, then blurted, "What's he like?"

"He's…" Ericka smiled. "He's wonderful." She lowered her voice. "I'll give you all the gossip later, okay?"

"You better!" Tamsil tried for one last, unsuccessful peek at the bed. "Be back in a minute!"

When Ericka returned to the bed, Valen's eyes were open. "I heard voices," he murmured. Ericka sat beside him and stroked his arm.

"We'll have breakfast soon."

"Ah." His eyes focused on her, and he reached up to cradle her cheek in his hand. "The most beautiful of women," he said softly, "made even more so by the light of day."

She closed her eyes, marveling that such strong hands could be so gentle. "I'm guessing that means you don't regret last night?"

"Regret?" He looked at her as if she'd just spoken in Gnoll. "I was honored to share the bed of the woman I love last night." His expression turned faintly self-recriminating. "My only regret is that I fell asleep so soon afterwards."

Ericka slipped back under the sheet with him, laughing. "I did too, you know. We'd had a long day." She wormed her way under his arm, kissing his shoulder. "And we can always cuddle now."

He wrapped his arms around her, looking thoughtful. "Hmmm. There is a problem with that plan."

"Oh?"

His hand slid over her hip, seeking and finding the belt tie of her robe. "I am not sure I would find that…sufficiently satisfying." He colored slightly as he said it, but there was no mistaking his intent. Ericka smiled wickedly and kissed him in reply, letting him roll her slowly onto her back, his hands in her robe. It was a languid, meandering kiss, perfect for the still, sunny morning. She dragged her foot up his calf, and felt something brush it; his tail, she realized. Feeling impish, she caught it between her toes and gave it a playful tug. His lips parted from hers with a sound that could only be described as a yelp.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, trying not to giggle. "I'm sorry. Is the tail off limits?"

"Well…" He was blushing furiously. "…like that, yes."

Her eyebrows lifted in understanding. "I see." She grinned. "So all those drow ladies in Lith My'athar were right after all?"

He was saved from replying by a knock at the door. "That would be Tamsil," she said. "Think we can postpone until after breakfast?" He sighed, though she thought she heard a tiny bit of relief mixed into the disappointment. She rolled out from under him, still grinning, and re-belted her robe.

Tamsil's expression was one of intense innocence, and Ericka decided she didn't want to know how long the younger woman had been at the door. "You should head down to the well room after you eat," she said, handing over the heavy breakfast tray. "Father wants to see you. Both of you." She bobbed her eyebrows meaningfully, and with another sparkling smile, was gone.

Breakfast was a display of the typical magnificence of Durnan's kitchen, though Ericka found she more enjoyed watching Valen discover the makeup of a typical morning meal in the Realms. Of course they wouldn't have chicken eggs and wheat bread on the farflung planes, or in the Underdark, she realized. There might be similarities to foods he had known before, but this was still all new to him, and it was fun to share it with him. By the end of the meal, he had declared bacon to be his new favorite food, and decided that he didn't really care for coffee.

They dressed, both pleased to be foregoing armor and arms today, and made their way to the well room. Durnan raised an eyebrow at their approach. "I'm not going to ask what took so long."

"Breakfast," Ericka said innocently.

"Uh huh." He saw no need to pursue the issue. "'Bout time you showed up, though. About an hour ago, the well lift started moving on its own. Went down, and came back up, all without anybody touching the controls. And when it came up, this was hanging off the rail." He held up a necklace, a simple chain with a carved onyx disc as pendant. Valen's eyes widened.

"That is Nathyrra's."

"Then you can vouch for the message?" Durnan asked. Valen and Ericka exchanged a questioning look.

"Message?"

Durnan cupped his hand around the pendant, and a voice suddenly emanated from it, a soft, gentle, incredibly familiar voice. It was the Seer.

"To those above: This message is sent in hope of peace. The Valsharess is defeated, and we have no wish for conquest. Meet us below."

"They're alive," Ericka whispered. She looked up at Valen, eyes bright. "And of course Nathyrra would know how to get back into Undermountain."

"So this is good news." Durnan handed Ericka the necklace, and she nodded.

"This is wonderful news. This means the Seer's rebels are holding the Underdark under Waterdeep. The city probably hasn't been this safe in centuries!"

Durnan thought about that, the small suggestion of a pleased smile working its way across his face. "Then I guess we should go down and meet our new friends."

He insisted on taking along a few sturdy fighters, even though Ericka and Valen assured him they would not have any need for the help. The lift creaked slowly into the darkness, and Valen peered over the railing, fascinated. "And this is how you first descended?" Ericka nodded.

"It's a lot less intimidating this time," she replied, "knowing what's down there." She looked over the edge, and quickly turned her back, blinking hard. "Still makes me a little queasy, though."

Soon, the clanking chains settled with a thud. Silence spread outward from the lift, knitting into the shadows that gathered around them. Then, from the darkness, just out of sight, a soft voice spoke. "Valen? Ericka?"

"Nathyrra!" With a typical lack of decorum, Ericka bounded forward, seizing the drow woman and dragging her towards the torch-lit lift. Nathyrra shaded her eyes, squinting. "My gods, you're alive!"

"And you likewise." The Seer, smiling her gentle amusement, emerged from the shadows. She stopped a few steps from them, head tilted slightly. "How did you survive?"

"Well…" Ericka began, then she chuckled. "I think we're just going to have to get everyone a little tipsy before they'll believe the whole story." The Seer blinked, politely confused. "The very, _very_ short version is that the Valsharess was a pawn, Mephistopheles was using her to gain access to the Prime Material plane, and we got sent on a little detour through the eighth Hell to get back here ourselves."

"Oh." The Seer blinked again. "Yes, perhaps a drink might help at that." She held out her hands, one to Ericka and one to Valen. "However the means, it is more than I had hoped for to see you both again. And your small friend?"

"Deekin's fine," Ericka said, giving the offered hand a squeeze. "He's apparently decided that his recounting of this whole thing is going to be his masterpiece, so we may not see him again for a few weeks. He's a bit of a perfectionist. But…" She released the Seer's hand and steered her towards Durnan, who had waiting with patient bemusement for the reunion to wind down. "There is someone here who is very interested in meeting you. Seer, this is Durnan, proprietor of the Yawning Portal Inn and general man-about-Waterdeep. Durnan, this is the Seer, priestess of Eilistraee and leader of the drow forces that opposed the Valsharess. I imagine you two could have a very interesting conversation about the new state of relations above and below the surface."

Durnan and the Seer exchanged small, pleasant bows, each taking the other's measure with intrigued wariness. "I think we could do just that, Ericka," Durnan said. "My lady, tell me more about your current status…"

"So," said a quiet voice in Ericka's ear. "I take it the answer to my question has changed?"

Ericka glanced over her shoulder at Nathyrra, whose smirk could only be referring to one thing. The drow arched her eyebrows towards Durnan and the Seer, and Valen, standing at the Seer's right shoulder. Ericka decided to smirk back.

"Maybe it has. What's it to you?"

"Idle curiosity."

"Of course."

"And?"

Ericka let a little extra naughtiness creep into her smile. "And all the girls back in Lith My'alar can cry themselves to sleep knowing what they missed out on." Nathyrra chuckled softly.

"You're terrible. I've always liked that about you."

Her smile softened. "It's good to see you again, Nathyrra."

"And you as well."

"Who knows? If Durnan's able to broker something between the Seer and the Lords of Waterdeep, you might get to come up and see the moon sooner than you'd thought."

Nathyrra's expression was almost wistful. "I would like that."

"Ericka!" Durnan hailed her. "We're heading back up." Ericka gave Nathyrra's hand a quick squeeze, and turned for the lift. Valen inclined his head to the Seer, but before he could turn, she touched his face.

"Dear Valen," she said warmly. "There is such peace in your eyes now."

"There is peace in my heart, Seer."

"Then you have all I had hoped for you." She stretched up onto her toes, and he bent his head farther so she could kiss the crown of his head in benediction. "Be well, my dear. I think that we shall see each other again soon." He nodded, and she caught Ericka's eye. "And Ericka? Take care of him."

Ericka smiled. "He's pretty good at taking care of himself, Seer, but…I think I can manage that."

* * *

The rest of the morning was sent in conference of one sort or another with various important personages among the great and good of Waterdeep. By the fifth repetition, Ericka was thoroughly sick of explaining how she'd gotten to the Underdark in the first place and what Mephistopheles's plan had been, and who exactly Valen was. Finally, while Durnan was in the midst of discussing his opinion of the potential benefits of an alliance with the Seer, she caught Valen's eye, motioning pointedly for the nearest exit. They made their escape, sneaking through a back passage up to the roof. Just as a precaution, Ericka relocked the door behind them.

"Gods, I needed to get out of there," she said, leaning against one of the chimneys.

"If we hadn't been able to slip away, I was willing to make a violent distraction if necessary. That wizard in particular was trying my patience."

She chuckled and closed her eyes, turning her face upward to the sun. "It feels good out here. I'd started to feel like I was never going to be warm again in Cania." She felt his shoulder against hers as he settled against the chimney beside her, and rested her head on it. They said nothing more, content to simply stand together and soak up the sunlight. When she finally opened her eyes again, she saw him looking at her with a small smile on his face. "Yes, handsome?"

He shook his head, and turned to stand in front of her. "It is nothing. Only…peace in my heart. Peace with you."

She smiled, taking his hands. "You know the next few weeks are probably going to be a lot like what we just snuck out of. Lots of talking. Lots of retelling the story. Lots of either being embarrassed by ludicrous amounts of praise or defending our actions." She sighed. "Already feels like this morning was far too long ago. And we still never got to finish what we started!"

He pulled her close, sliding his hands down her back to her waist. "We will."

She pretended to be shocked. "Right here?" He went scarlet, and she laughed. "No, that would be a good way to get splinters in awkward places."

"Yes it would," he said, scowling at her faintly. Then he lowered his head to brush his lips against her cheek and ear. "All the same," he murmured, "I would not be adverse, under better circumstances."

"Naughtier than I thought," she laughed. "You're on." She turned her head just far enough for her lips to meet his, and they kissed, deeply but without hurry. He was making that little growling purr again, pressing her against the chimney just firmly enough to make her mentally curse the prospect of splinters. When they separated for breath, she murmured, "So…when do I get a demonstration of the infamous favor for the marilith?"

"Never."

She found herself pouting without even realizing it. "Why not?"

"Because," he said, "I did then what I had to. And only enough to fulfill my end of the bargain, which was, if you recall, the use of her portal out of Sigil. But with you, the bargain is this: That I will show you, at every opportunity, how deeply and completely I love you. To do that requires my full attention, and the exertion of all my effort, which is more than any marilith could ever warrant."

"Ooo," Ericka whispered, leaning to resume the kiss, "good answer."


	20. Epilogue: Star Gazing

Ericka had been right, her prophecy as infallible as the Seer's. The next few weeks were a maddening blur of meetings and introductions, and every waking moment not spent in recitation or explanation was given to aiding in the rebuilding of the city. Much of the central ward had been damaged in the drow incursions and even more so by Mephistopheles's dramatic assault. In addition, nearly two dozen of the names Deekin had taken at Drearing's Deep had hailed from Waterdeep, and they felt honor bound to do what they could find any living kin and pass on what news they could. Valen told himself that they were doing good, and they were, but he couldn't help but chafe just a bit all the same. He wanted more from this time with Ericka than clasped hands under a table or stolen kisses in a back hallway. They still had the night, and the sanctuary of their room in the Yawning Portal, but he found himself increasingly desirous of the things they had promised themselves back in Lith My'athar. So when she told him she had a surprise for him, his heart leapt.

"Am I allowed a hint?" he asked as they exited the east gate. The sun was sinking into the harbor, its fading light staining the thin band of clouds clinging to the western horizon. Ericka, who had insisted on not relinquishing the basket she carried, flashed him a smile.

"I am not in the hinting business," she replied. "Besides, if you can't figure out in the next quarter hour what I've got planned, there's no hope for you."

It didn't take him that long, and he was trying hard to repress a grin as she led the way up the long slope of a gentle hill towards a small stone building. "This is a shrine to Selûne," she said, putting down the basket and withdrawing a blanket, which she spread on the grass. "Which is why it has such a good view of the sky." She sat with her back to the shrine wall, pulling a bottle of wine from the basket with a flourish. "Give a girl some company?"

He sat beside her with a smile that broadened as she tucked herself under his arm, her head on his shoulder. The sky was a deep violet blue, and already the first stars were beginning to shine. He surveyed the darkening heavens, surprised by just how hungry for this beauty he had been. The Underdark was not as foul a place as many dismissed it to be, but there was no sight there that could compare to a clear, endless night sky. He exhaled slowly, and Ericka nudged his shoulder with her chin. "What do you think?"

"Marvelous," he murmured. "But I would expect nothing less from you." She looked almost embarrassed, which amused him.

"I didn't make the sky, you know." She shifted away from his side, to pour him some wine and offer him some small cakes. "I didn't make these either, but I'll take more credit for them."

They drank their wine, and ate their evening snack, and as more of the stars appeared, Ericka began to point out notable constellations. "You see the really bright star just above that tower spire? Now if you look up, you'll see three more, forming sort of a curve." Valen nodded. "That's the Archer's bow. And if you look just to the left, there are four stars that form a rectangle – that's her body. She's just the Archer to humans, but to the elves, she's Dikyalie the Keen, who's shooting a message across the sky to her lover, the mage Rilaeth. He'll appear in a few hours, to the west."

"You are quite well versed in starlore, my love," he smiled. He set his wine aside to pull her closer, and she settled between his legs, her back to his chest.

"Master Drogan loved astronomy. An eccentric interest for a dwarf, as he always freely admitted. But I think he liked being eccentric." She leaned her head back against his shoulder, taking another sip of wine. "We'd sit outside for hours some nights, charting the stars. The sky here has nothing on Hilltop. It was so clear there, and so dark. Felt like you could see all the way through the planes."

"Perhaps you could. And perhaps, on one of those nights, we looked into the sky at the same time, and our eyes met, though we did not know it."

She considered that in silence for a moment, and when she spoke, he could hear the smile in her voice. "I like that. But I like this better. I'd rather have you here than on some other plane." She tilted her head back. "Here where I can look you in the eye up close."

He had to admit, being able to look into her eyes now was satisfying in a way the poetry of distance never could be. "Through Abyssal Pits and Hells of cold / Across celestial heights and seas of gold / I cannot be kept from you," he murmured, watching her starlit face.

"From the astral depths and wastes of grey,

By the gates of Sigil with beasts at play,

I will always wait for you.

Neither death nor fear nor power scorned

Shall make my love forsworned

My soul, my flesh, my heart is true,

These with eternity my gift to you."

As he recited, he watched the curve of her smiling lips, and when he finished, she asked softly, "More Kerigon the Crimson?"

He shook his head, suddenly shy. "No. Though I am flattered you would think so." Her eyebrows lifted at the same rate her jaw dropped.

"Wait… _You_ wrote that?" He nodded. "For me?" He nodded again, and she blinked at him owlishly, at a complete loss. Her mouth opened and closed several more times before she finally managed, "You know, most men don't bother with poetry _after_ they've gotten a girl to sleep with them."

"Do they not?" Her surprise was more enjoyable than he imagined, and his embarrassment ebbed away in light of this discovery. So verse was her weak point? He would have to remember that. "Will my lady forgive me for being so horribly out of order?"

"She might," Ericka grinned, her insouciance returning. "Though she might be hoping you intend to apologize a little more vigorously." He growled involuntarily at the suggestion, and her grin grew naughty. But then it softened, and she said softly, "It's funny. The whole world around us, and all the planes, and I can't think of anywhere I would rather be than here."

"Nor I," he replied. "Though I will go anywhere in this world, or any other, if you are with me."

"Then I think a little exploring is in order." She covered his hands with hers, holding his arms tightly against her. "But not tonight." He smiled and kissed her hair, and they lapsed back into silence. "Oh look," she said. "Rilaeth's starting to appear. In another hour, we'll be able to see him."

"And he will join his love. He must be pleased."

"They have the whole sky. We have the whole multiverse."


End file.
